


The Garrison, Home for all.

by EmeraldIvy



Series: The Garrison, Home for all. [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Families of Choice, Historical References, Minor Character Death, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldIvy/pseuds/EmeraldIvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War changes everything and nowhere was it more apparent than in The Musketeers garrison. A place that too many call home and as war continues there will only become more. The only thing that matters; it must survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will one hell of a long fic because war isn't an easy thing to write. Hope you enjoy the messed up world I'm about to create.

The Garrison, Home for all.

Chapter 1.

   Paris, war time. The city’s usually vibrant streets marred with fear, confusion, and anger. The garrison was no better. A place that was once a symbol of brotherhood felt wrong. The sober reality of the air around them finally taking root. For many knew that some of the brothers that they had come to love wouldn’t see the end of this war; that some of their friendships would not survive the year and their hearts couldn’t take the pain of that probability. No one felt this as much as one particular group. Gathered in the Captain’s office surrounded by a painful mess of old and new.

   Eventually one of the five men decided to speak, “So your orders are that the regiment will remain here in Paris until you can establish a spy network that you can at least rely upon. Is that what you’re saying?” One of the men asked, his hands splayed across a desk absolutely covered in paper.

   “Yes Athos, that’s exactly what I’m ordering you to do.” The other man replied. His tone conveying a sense of ragged, over-wrought, but strong sense of authority.

   “Why?” Athos asked. Clearly his recent promotion to Captain had yet to change the way he viewed his work and the world.

   “Because,” the man sighed, “Paris isn’t the safest place for the King. Because there are Spanish spies closing in on the city as we speak and I have no clue how to root them out. Because Athos the Musketeers are first and foremost supposed to be the King’s elite guardsmen; not your typical soldier even though you’ve all seem to forgotten that in the recent years. Because I’m the Minister for War and I’m telling you to Athos.”

   The Minister’s anger over his promotion clear as day. He never wanted to be a politician. He was a soldier; a captain at best but not a politician. He still had no clue what King Louis was thinking. He never had the mind for politics; that was more Richelieu’s area of expertise. If only Richelieu were still alive then this mess could’ve been avoided entirely.

   Athos hesitated before replying, “Understood. It’s not like we’re ready to leave this very instant. We have new cadets to recruit and to train before we’re even ready to serve at the front lines. Don’t hesitate to ask us for help. We still see you as our leader Tréville.” A slip of shame passed through Athos. He had forgotten that Tréville had never asked for this. Knew that Tréville wasn’t one for politics but alas fate had other plans (well fate and the King.)

   “Thank you, Athos. You are a good man.” Athos inwardly winced at that description of himself. “Well I must go. I have a room and an office at the palace that I must be getting back to. There is a lot of work to do before we’re even remotely ready for the Spanish forces.” He left without so much as a backward glance. His mind weighed down by the ever increasing burdens that it had to take on as of late.

   “Athos…” One of the other men started before Athos cut him off.

   “Aramis don’t. Just don’t. You may be back with us now but as soon as this war is over you’ll turn your back on us again and leave. Just like…” Just like Anne did… Though just as that thought was about to leave his mind another whispered the word coward right past his ear; coward... “Just leave me alone. I need to think. Aramis, check to see if we have enough equipment for the new cadets, Porthos take a stock of the ammunition. D’Artagnan you deal with the new cadets; train them.” His friends all promptly left. Both parties feeling unease at the new chain of command.

   Athos buried his head into his nearest hand whilst the other searched for the next bottle of wine of the day. His mind had been swimming in ocean of pain, regret, guilt and shame for too long and he needed the respite. He only stopped drinking long enough to clutch at the white glove stored in his. To look at and feel the immense sadness well up in him again. Thoughts that had been plaguing his mind crept up again. What if he had just arrived a little sooner? What if he had given her a reason to stay? What if he… What if he had just believed her…

   He didn’t know what would drive him insane faster. His thoughts about her or his thoughts on the war. Well he knew which one would kill him faster at any rate.

   Outside the rest were doing as they were told. An unusual occurrence but after they saw the devastation, well mainly Porthos, of what Milady leaving took on Athos compounded by his newly awarded captaincy they knew not to push it, or him just yet.

   But they would. There were still too many unanswered questions and no one needed them more than D’Artagnan.

   D’Artagnan who still didn’t understand why Athos still loved Milady. He didn’t even know that Athos was until Constance had told him and even then he needed convincing. Though that didn’t stop him being concerned for his friend, it was just that lately he seemed… lesser somehow, emptier as of late.

   Porthos was thinking along the same lines. He knew, had hoped otherwise, that Athos would never be done with his…wife of his; for one of a better term. He’d known from the moment that Athos was told that Milady was the King’s mistress. He had never seen such a thinly veiled look of sheer, utter disgust from Athos before (and quite frankly never wanted to see it again.) He also couldn’t deny the flicker of grief after Athos’ initial reaction to the news. He also didn’t want to see that look coming from his friend’s eyes again. But Milady was gone now, perhaps forever, and there was nothing he or the rest of the garrison could do about it. Not a damn thing.

   However, Aramis’ mind was preoccupied with another matter entirely. The specific matter in question was a body, a dead woman’s body that affected him more that he believed it could. The lady is question, Marguerite. The amount of instant shame that that name could conjure up in him was almost laughable if it weren’t so tragic. Her death was on his hands and for what. A few sporadic moments of pleasure here and there. For her to be another in a long line of bodies he used to warm his. To be close to his son. All of those reasons except for maybe the last one seemed pitiful next the actual cost of his actions. Even the last one felt wrong to use as justification for treating a woman, a living breathing women, as his plaything.

   Her innocent blood was on his hands and as much he tried to wash the image of her blood off his hands he couldn’t; and he felt like a coward for believing that running away to that monastery would absolve him of his guilt. He wronged in Paris so he must redeem himself in Paris or at least that’s what this war had so far taught him; that and apparently too many of his friends were also cowards. After all, one was one too many.

   Oh God Athos, what have we done. He felt cold knowing that Athos and himself had another thing in common now. That they both had the ability to utterly destroy innocent women’s lives. Milady may have been a liar but just like Porthos she did it to save herself just like Marguerite eventually did. The problem being no one should die over simple lies and yet two women did by his and his friend’s hands. They just now differ in how they must deal and act with that knowledge.

   Maybe Anne was still alive, maybe. That is if his friend abandoning her again hadn’t destroyed any remnants of Anne still left in Milady.

   Milady; Anne. He wonders if anyone will get any of them right.

   As for Constance stuck at the Queen’s side, how does she feel about all this; Milady, Marguerite, Lemay, The war, and everything else? In all honesty she tries not to. How should she feel over having another two friends dead? How should she feel over their being a great possibility that not only the rest of her friends will die but yet another one of her husbands will die too. That idea alone was too much; the rest seemed almost too cruel. Actually it was cruel.

   So she guards the Queen because it’s all that she can do. That and lie with her husband as many times as she can before he has to go off to war and break her heart in two. She may have asked for adventure when she first romanced him but if this was adventure she almost wanted no part of it. Almost, her love of D’Artagnan was too strong now, too official for her to run now. She was no coward. Her husband and her were alike in that respect.

   However, Tréville had no time for such doubts and wanderings. He had a job to do, a country to save, and a Royal family to protect. Oh and just a bloody war to win. A war that could’ve been avoided if it weren’t for one man’s complete and utter selfishness and unlike minister’s in the past he had no mind for politics, he was no Richelieu. However, as dead as Richelieu was he could settle for second best. The most renown of the Cardinal’s creatures. He only hoped that Athos wouldn’t kill him over his choice of spymaster but these were desperate times. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides if there was anyone else that knew the politics of the city and the country as well as she, come to think of it, he would love to know.

   He would seriously love to know but his choice was made; now he just had to await the consequences. Whatever they may be.

   A young man burst through his reverie, a messenger boy. “Sorry sir, but I have a letter for you. The letter says it has urgent news for you, sir” Tréville could tell that the boy was nervous but he had no time to comfort him. Instead he took the letter without so much as a by your leave. He felt a pang of guilt for his manners but really who has time to waste these days.

   _To the new Minister for War,_

_To say I was surprised to receive your correspondence, especially in England, would be an understatement to say the least, but you have always been a pragmatist haven’t you. I’m en route to Paris as we speak. I’m with the Durant family and will use them to begin constructing a serviceable spy network within France. However, Paris will be a different story if you hadn’t of guessed already and I want compensated accordingly. I have risked a life of security to come back to this country so don’t make me regret it. Enclosed is a cypher for future correspondence; learn it, memorize it, and then destroy it. I will be with you as soon as I can._

_Yours…_

   Well, Tréville thought, one less thing to worry about then. He took the cypher into his hands and felt them get heavier and heavier. The reality of war was truly, finally sinking in.

   Paris, war time and a country about to be torn apart. Whatever remained, for better or for worse, it would have to be enough.

   Paris, war time. May god have mercy on us all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

   It was never an easy thing being a new cadet in The Musketeers in ordinary circumstances but these weren’t normal circumstances. The war simultaneously made it better and worse. Better because the process on becoming one was much shorter. Worse because they were entering into an environment where everyone was a little more emotionally closed off and their progress into becoming a part of the brotherhood a little slower.

   However, it would be worth and no one thought this more than two cadets who alike in name couldn’t be more different; Jean-Jacques and Jean-Pierre. Two men there for justice but of differing kinds. In order, A cynic and an optimist. One a revolutionary, tired of the destructive and pointless games of nobility. The other a pure hearted young man; a hero, a champion for all nobility. Two complete opposites who would become the most unlikely of brothers.

   “Jean-Jacques and Jean-Pierre come; I have two tasks that I need you two to perform. Jacques I need you to subdue rioters in Les Halles, they’re complaining about rationing, and Pierre there have been some attacks upon the nobility staying in Marais. I need these to be completed by the end of today is that understood.” They both bowed their heads. “Good now get on with it,” ordered Athos and then after dismissing them proceeded to go up the stairs to the landing outside his office so that he could properly observe the cadet training.   

   Both of the Jeans looked at each other; both glad that they received the tasks that they did. Jacques strengths lay in being able to talk to rioters for they were usually fellow revolutionaries but absolutely detested talking to nobility and feigning to have the respect for them that they obviously didn’t deserve.

   However, Pierre was a different story altogether. He was raised alongside nobility; his father being a respected servant in a noble house with Pierre inheriting that position with the same grace that his father had when his father grew too old. He knew how to behave around royalty but with revolutionaries he had no clue. He just simply didn’t understand why one would hate nobility so much as to want to get rid of them entirely. Naiveté always looked good on him.

   So they both set out but not before saying goodbye to each other; both having grew to admire the other in the recent months. Pierre admiring Jacques’ wisdom and worldly ways with not so much as a hint of jealousy and Jacques rather grudging respect for Pierre’s continued sunny outlook on life even with the war going on.  
Jacques was the fastest on his horse knowing that if he didn’t arrive in haste in Les Halles many of his fellows would be arrested, or even worse killed. He didn’t have a moment to waste.

   When he arrived the violence had already escalated. People were being thrown into stalls, thrown to the ground, pushed against walls. He didn’t have much time to act so he did the first thing that popped into his head. He raised his gun over his head and shot it into the air. The shot had the effect that he intended; the shot had pierced through the wall of noise in the market place and shocked both the rioters and the guards into standing still.

   “As Jean-Jacques of the King’s Musketeers I implore that you remain calm,” he said in the thickening silence. “May the leader of this riot step forward so that I may speak with them privately, remember this is a place of commerce first and foremost and that children often frequent here. It’s hard enough for children to grow up in war so do not make it worse. All of you.” He looked pointedly at the Red guards as he said this.

   In the distance he saw a figure step forward. He slipped off his horse wondering what kind of person could whip up this sort of frenzied passion. It was a woman, a woman with the brownest hair and the darkest skin he had even seen in these parts. He wasn’t surprised; women like her always seemed to see the injustice in the world.

   When they were finally face to face she spoke. Her voice carrying so much conviction it almost overwhelmed him. “What right do you have to interrupt our protest? Do you think we were the ones who started this violence? Because I can assure you we weren’t. It was those mad red dogs.” As she said this she sneered at the nearest Red guard.

   “I don’t think I have the right to stop this,” at this the woman looked almost intrigued. “But I have been ordered to do so” she scoffed at that, “no matter how much I don’t want to. I also don’t think that you started the violence here and I also don’t begrudge you for fighting back.” At that she looked almost gobsmacked and then crossed her arms as if assessing his sincerity, after confirming that he was her posture slightly relaxed.

   “This man means us no harm and simply wants to talk. You can all go home. He will listen to us.” At that the crowd slowly, albeit obstinately, slipped away. The woman then started walking to the building closest to her, coaxing him to follow her. She was silent until she came up the door and pulled him inside.

   Before she could interrogate him he saw a familiar man in the room, the man who taught him how to fight, and he rushed into his open embrace.

   “Jacques,” the man exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

   Before he could answer the women piped up clearly confused about the unusually tender display of affection. “Who are you and how do you know Armand?” she asked clearly interested in the story unfolding right in front of her. It wasn’t every day that she saw Armand being civil to a Musketeer.

   “I’m Jean-Jacques and Armand is the man who taught me how to fight.” Armand had to supress a smile at that. “I’m just like you. I’m a revolutionary.”

   “Then why are you with the Musketeers?” she couldn’t help asking. Jacques becoming more interesting to her by the minute.

   “I’m a Musketeer because I want to do my part to end this war in whatever way I can. Our cause can’t advance until the war is ended and I want to see our cause flourish at least a little before I die of old age.” Jacques couldn’t help but feel indignant for this wasn’t the first time he had to answer to his friends about this particular career choice.

   The woman at least had the decency to look mollified at his answer. She took a breath before saying, “Well I can see that I won’t have to argue with you about what we want. All we’re asking for is more food. That is all.”

   He felt a rush of empathy at that. Memories of all the times that he asked the same thing came back to bite at his heart. He replied “I’ll see what I can do.” He sighed, forcing out all of the stones of him that had accumulated since becoming a Musketeer out of his body. “Can I at least know the name of my fellow freedom fighter?” He asked as way to distract himself from the absurdity of the situation he had found himself in.

   Just behind him Armand was smirking. This is going to fun to watch this all play out, he thought.

   “My name is Sylvie. I’m the new leader of the refugees and I’m am honoured to meet another one of Armand’s men.” She smiled at Jacques and he couldn’t help but smile back. She was a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman. The exact sort of woman that he liked.

   He groaned inwardly at the thought. Just like him to find a woman like her just after war had begun. It was just his luck.

   Only fifteen minutes’ walk away Pierre was facing an entirely different type of violent situation; of the sword variety. One where he, the only person on his side, was facing off against five other sword-wielding men. He only hoped that Jacques was having an easier time than him.

   He had already disarmed three men already but now they were all coming at him at once. It was hard to keep track of them all and just when he thought he had them one unseen blade would come flying towards him breaking his concentration.

   When he had arrived these men were already dragging women out of their or their employer’s residences. It seemed as if the men were planning on taking the women hostage for some reason but that reason ceased to matter when he saw what those women were carrying, babies. A red hot anger welled up in and almost clouded his vision until D’Artagnan’s training kicked in. Head over heart, head over heart.

   However, his head quickly got over whelmed at the thought of fighting, yes fighting off eight men by himself. He may be a naïve fool but he was no idiot (or hoped not at least.) He knew his limits like any good soldier and this task was more than just a little challenging. His only advantage being the fact that these men were clearly underestimating him (probably due to the fact that he didn’t kill the men that he’d defeated,) but still a little respect wouldn’t go amiss.

   Just as soon as he was about to feel hopeless about his chances at success the most extraordinary thing happened. One of the men stopped, screaming bloody murder, because there was miraculously, suddenly an arrow sticking out of his leg. At this his fellow savages turned round, thus distracted, to find the source of said arrow and in their confusion he rapidly disarmed the rest of them.

   They did after that try to put up a fight but then soon realised there was simply no point and rushed off before he could even think of arresting them. Dazed he stood for a minute waiting for all his mental faculties to rush back to him. Any minute now… Aha!

   “I’m Jean-Pierre of the King’s Musketeers and I wish to inform the person who shot that arrow that you’re my new hero. Now if you would be so kind as to show yourself I would like to thank you properly.” He announced in the newly established din. He only briefly glanced at the women, their eyes awash with relief and thanks, his heart elevating a little before he heard a rustle and saw a woman coming out of the shrubbery; bow in hand.

   He looked into his saviour eyes for the first time and saw his own reflected back at him. So that’s how his eyes truly looked, he couldn’t help thinking. He could tell she was surprised too at the coincidence because she hesitated just a little in her movements towards him.

  Their eyes locked again before her voice floating from her body (though slightly shaky) said, “It was me; if you couldn’t already tell.” She waved the bow around a little to emphasise her point, “and before you ask we had no idea why they were abducting us. Or why they also wanted the children.” Only then did he see the children hiding behind the cluster of women, scared out of their wits. Another surge of anger crossed his heart. To endanger children especially in a time of war. He shook his head; war truly brought out the worst in some people. He only hoped that it wouldn’t do the same to him.

   She continued, “I’m glad that you’re here. Knowing that the Musketeers are here protecting us will be a huge comfort to us all. We’re only servants so we know that we don’t matter all that much.” Pierre was affronted at that. He felt a sudden urge to tell this woman that she was wrong; that she, that they all meant something- well at least to a man like him. Not three months ago was he a servant himself.

   All servants matter- he was told as much by the nobility themselves.

   “I used to be a servant myself,” he started, “before my Comte urged that I join the Musketeers so that I could help stop the war more directly. He said the country had more use for a man like me than he did. He was also the same man who taught me that all servants truly do matter.” The including you was silent but was never the less present in the air around them.

   “Your master sounds much like my Comtesse. She would’ve scolded me right now for addressing myself in such a manner. She has always had such a high opinion of me you see.” Her facing growing into a serene and radiant smile after that.

   “Well I must be off. I’ve got to report back to the garrison.” The woman smile faded a little at that and his heart also sunk a little.

   “My name’s Elodie, if you were wondering. I work in the house right in front of you, if you were also wondering.” His heart buoyed at that and he felt a small smile work its way onto his face. He then bowed his head, sprung up onto his horse and left feeling pleasantly surprised.

   He wasn’t surprised at Jacques arriving at the same time as him. What he was surprised at was that Jacques was smiling, actually smiling. He usually just smirked all the time.

   Jacques was also not surprised to see Pierre arrive at the same time. However, he was shocked that Pierre seemed to be blushing. He didn’t seem to blush at all. He just felt too light for all that.

   Both men felt that this was the day for surprises it seemed.

   That would have to wait- they needed to report to the Captain, or Athos as he preferred to be called, either way their news had to be relayed urgently. They rushed to the Captain’s office where they hoped he would be. He was.

   Athos was also stunned to see them back so quickly but wasted no time.

   “Good your back. Jacques I’ll start with you. Has the rioting been calmed and if you found out could you tell me what started it in the first place?” Getting to root cause, of course.

   “The rioters have been dispelled. I met with their leader shortly after. I don’t believe it was them that caused it to become a riot, rather I believe that the aggravating and violent presence of the Red guard made it so.” Damn Red guards, cursed both Athos and Jacques. “All they want is more food, especially the refugees. That’s all their asking for.”

   Athos groaned at that, so this was what the violence was all about. People asking not to starve and them being punished for wanting to live. Athos sighed. “I’ll see if I can ask the Queen if she could get some of the nobility staying at the palace and Marais to spare either some of their food or contribute money to the cause. Just make sure that they don’t cause more trouble. I’ll be having a word with Governor Feron over this.”

   Jacques bit back his immediate reaction at that. Trouble, he thought, trouble! They were just fighting back against oppression and its goons. He knew that saying this wouldn’t help matters; it never did especially around people who would never understand, could never understand. So he didn’t

   Athos looked to Pierre as if to remind him to also give his report. Pierre stuttered just a little before saying, “There were men going into the residences in Marais. They were taking women, specifically women with children and babies, out of their homes like they were about to abduct them; the children included. What for I don’t know. They ran off as soon as I disarmed them but there were eight men in total.”

   This alarmed Athos. Not only because the motives for these attacks unknown but for the fact that it involved specifically women and children. He also felt guilty for sending in only a months’ new cadet to fight eight men single handed. For that reason alone, he would not reprimand Pierre for not following up on the reason for this criminality; though next time he wouldn’t be so lenient.

   “Very well. Pierre, Jacques. You’re dismissed.” Pierre was surprised that he wasn’t scolded for letting the men get away but just one look into his Captain’s eyes and he realised that this was Athos’ way of apologising for sending him into such a dangerous situation alone. All he could was just nod at him hoping Athos’ knew what he meant.

   Before they could think on the day’s events at all they were soon ordered by a very insistent Aramis, who was enjoying the new cadets’ pain just a little too much, into another (of what would become) round of exhaustive training. By the time they had ate dinner their muscles ached like they had been stretched by ropes attached to two carriages moving in opposite directions. Their only relief found at the bottom of every wine glass that they drunk.

   Though the wine would soon become a curse on their heads come morning it was doing wonders for their comradery. It was times like this that the new cadets felt like they were becoming brothers, when they were regaling each other with tales of each other’s pasts or mutually complaining about the pains that training brought them. But more than that they were just glad that they had more people in their lives that would watch out for their backs. More people that they could trust with their lives.

   Before they retired for the night Jacques asked Pierre, “What was the reason behind your smile earlier?”

   “What was the reason behind yours?” Pierre asked after not willing to give Jacques the opportunity to see him blush. Though, when he saw Jacques disappointed expression he felt compelled to answer.

   “A woman,” they both answered at the same time. They then looked at each other stunned and then together burst out laughing.

   Brothers indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but motivation was lacking for this chapter.

Chapter 3. 

 

    The Havre; to many the last point in France, the last stop. To others, especially to one particular women, it was the first. The first stop to having as life she could actually be proud of. For the other it was a sight all too familiar, so much so it was imprinted in her mind forever.

    Well if there was ever a place she didn’t want to see again, she thought, this would be one of the candidates. Better to get out of here at fast as she could then. Besides, she had no idea how many enemies of hers would be here and she really didn’t want to find out.

    First things first, “Do you know if any of your relatives live nearby. I want to start working as soon as possible; get things up and running.” The woman beside her immediately knew what that meant. She and her new acquaintance had learned quite a number of things about each other the past few days. Dark secrets that poured out as soon as the other had realised their non-judgemental nature.

    “Yes I believe I have a cousin who lives near the harbour. He’s the one who discerns which information from overseas is useful or not. Well, the first one; there are others of course.”

    She felt she needed to qualify. Her mother’s family was not, for want of a better word, complicated for no reason. “And before you ask I do know where he resides. He was the first person of my mother’s extended family I saw when I returned to France.” She after all was born in France.

    “Good.” They after ensuring the delivery of their luggage sped off in silence. The woman, also known as Milady de Winter, didn’t want anyone to recognize her just yet and some would recognize her by voice alone; especially here.

    In the silence they couldn’t help but review what they had learned about the other. Milady having been stunned at some of the things that the younger woman, Isabelle, had done and knew. For example, she was astonished to find that Isabelle and her family had a grudging respect and admiration of Richelieu but a complete unabashed disdain for Rochefort. Milady wasn’t so surprised at that, Rochefort had successfully destroyed the Parisian spy network and dealt a significant blow to the overall French one. That network (she was pleased to find out) almost fixed by the Durant family already.

    What she was most surprised about; maybe stunned was the more operative word, was how empathetic Isabelle was about her past- specifically about Athos. She had never seen anyone so resolutely take her side on the issue before and she still felt an unfamiliar, though welcome warmth about the whole thing. It felt, for the first time since her youth, that she was starting to have a friend and she quite liked the idea. It was one of the things that irritated her the most about Athos, that he had people to believe in him and she didn’t, but it was looking like that was changing.

    Change never had to necessarily be a bad thing, she was discovering.

    What she didn’t know was that Isabelle felt as much, but a slightly different, kind of relief about the newly bloomed friendship. Isabelle had friends before though none quite like Milady. Her friends were usually less tainted; and yet so was she now even though she had a good reason to be. She hoped that wasn’t her trying to convince herself again. There was only one time she had managed to convince herself that a lie was real and now there was now a dead body attached to it. The dead body of her father. The man she so thoroughly convinced herself loved her after figuring out he didn’t when she was five now dead after she rediscovered the truth.

    Her father hadn’t ever loved her, the truth still stung. He was the only person who she confessed her belief of her being barren to and he immediately decided to marry her to a man who would beat her to death for having no heirs; specifically, male heirs. He had beaten his first wife to death for only having girls. She couldn’t imagine the slow and torturous death that would’ve befallen her if she hadn’t of acted in time.

    She hadn’t meant to kill him. She was only fighting for her honour (as was the Sutherland way,) but when she saw that her father’s eyes held no love in them, not even a hint of it, she knew that she had to. She was a burden to him, a burden he’d rather be gone than have to deal with.

    But he had betrayed her. Betrayed her trust, her love of him and her weak state of mind. Weak because only a year before was she married to her husband of only five years. She was only fifteen when she married but it was safety. Safety she lost to soon and too big for her to comprehend at only the tender age of twenty. Her being twenty-two now. She knew and she felt better about the whole thing. That safety was also an illusion, though not one of her own making but society’s. She never really was the type of girl for society but she was thrust into it all the same. It was the done thing in her social circle after all.

    A softened blow hit her then. Her first husband, William how she still missed him. But she knew that even that was misplaced. She never loved him but still she missed his companionship.

    She wondered what she would do in Paris. She had skills to use certainly but what to do with them. She had a very rudimentary idea but she had no idea if it would work or if she would be accepted but still she had to try. It seemed as if that was her motto as of late.

    It was after that particular thought that they found themselves at her cousin’s lodgings. It was nondescript and she smiled inwardly, perfect for a Durant.

    Before she could even knock on the door it was flung open. Her cousin, it seemed, was expecting her.

    “As you have already guessed my people already spotted you, dear cousin.” Then swiftly turned his face to Milady. “And you must be the Milady de Winter. And yes, before you ask, I know all about your exploits. As always my family is very well informed.” He addressed his cousin again, “Isabelle you go inside first there is something I must discuss with Milady alone regarding a personal matter.” He then succinctly but forcefully dismissed he cousin.

    “Milady before you even meet with the rest of my family I should warn you. The new Captain of the Musketeers is Athos and yes we do know he’s your husband. The Cardinal informed us of that particular surprise before his untimely death.” The cousin said with as much subtlety as such news like that required.

    Damn Tréville, she couldn’t help think. A cataclysm of emotions erupted then. Every single feeling regarding Athos that she had managed to suppress was undone and she was furious. Furious over Tréville appointing Athos such a task. Furious over damn Athos and his damn sense of duty. Furious over finally knowing the reason he hadn’t come. Hang him, Hang him and his sense of honour. His honour he couldn’t even extend to her even though she was, and still technically his, wife. Hypocrite.

    That was the crux of their problems, blatant and indomitable hypocrisy and if she was being truly honest with herself (which she wasn’t) it came from both sides. Denial was such a wonderful yet terrible thing.

    After that brief but overly personal interlude the act of rebuilding of the country’s information passages was underway. Her usual contacts having been aware of the situation already. The Durant were nothing if not efficient it seemed. Apparently they knew even before Tréville did who the new spymaster would be. She was admittedly flattered at that. It seemed as though Rochefort’s damage was thoroughly limited to Paris and its surrounding area which was a blessing. The curse came as regards to the Capital. The network there was in utter ruins, her people had just about scattered to the winds and the place was crawling with Spanish spies. It was a nightmare to put it simply. A nightmare that she had to resolve quickly, before it was too late.

    The Durant, when she eventually said this, looked more harrowed at that than she needed him to be. He spotted that. “I’m not the Durant that covers Paris, Milady. They’re in Paris. My uncle and other cousin. They will be able to provide you with a better and newer picture than I can.” This did little to assuage her newly formed doubt. She was starting to feel lost, like she had bitten off more she could chew.

    Her hands immediately went to her neck after that thought, feeling not for the first time like she was about to hang on a noose of her own making. She swallowed and took a deep breath after that her eyes suddenly welling up in remembrance.

    She tore her eyes from the missives on the tables to look at her hands for a brief moment. All she could see was the colossal weight of task she was undertaking in them. It should’ve scared her more than it did but she couldn’t help but feel a drop ecstatic. She didn’t have to kill any more. Granted she would have others do it for her but for once the deaths that were about to ensue wouldn’t directly be on her hands. She smiled despite of herself and the circumstances.

    The cousin continued after that. With each and every point he made she a picture was slowly being formed in her mind and it was a picture she could use effectively. She was already forming plans on what to do. Which contacts of hers she would contact first, new ones she could recruit, coming up with bribes for harder won informants and ways to get her usual suspects back to Paris.

    The discussions and plans continued to evolve and by evening they were both pretty confident. The plan was shaky and missing crucial pieces but it was a start. A good start and one they would build upon tomorrow morning before she departed to Évreux; where the rest of the Durant family were staying before heading to Paris.

    It wasn’t until they were in the carriage the following afternoon that Isabelle and she spoke again. It was oddly silent; though it was not without reason. They were both feeling unusually apprehensive. The steady growth of the reality of their situation finally making itself known. For one it was the ever increasing notion that she wouldn’t be able to escape her past no matter how hard she tried. The other, an increasing sense that she had no idea what the future held for her and she was petrified. Why did the only decent escape to her precarious position be a place that was slowly turning into a war zone.

    “Before we arrive in Évreux there’s something I must tell you. The King and Queen already know of my connection to my family.” And down goes yet another plan. The Durant’s were certainly not making her job easy for her. Damn, Milady thought, she could’ve been a really good spy within the court but alas.

    “And no before you ask I won’t spy for you. I have plans of my own which being a spy would only confuse and make unnecessarily complicated and if there’s one thing that you’ve should’ve learned about my family is that we don’t ever do unnecessarily complicated.” Oh Milady had learned that as soon as Isabelle’s cousin started talking; meticulous would be the only apt description.

    "Well what exactly are your plans then?" Milady asked, her mind coming up with no possible pathways a woman like her would be able to go down.

    "Isn't it obvious. Be the Queen's personal (though secret) body guard though officially I'd be another one of her ladies in waiting. Possibly become a soldier's wife. Yes, a soldier's wife would do nicely." She couldn't help adding with a smirk all her own.

    Milady couldn't help but be impressed. Considering the Durant's position in court the Queen would be an utter fool to turn down such an offer; it would only be compounded if the offer was made in front of the King. The Queen would also need extra protection now more than ever and would except it gladly; especially if the rumours of her still being shaken after Rochefort were true. But a soldier's wife, that she didn't quite understand but if that was what it would take for this new friend of hers to be happy then so be it.

    She already had an inclining of what kind of soldier she was looking for but it meant that she'd have to... No she wasn't going to go there; no that would be absurd, impossible and yet..

    She looked at Isabelle's eyes; deeply this time around and saw a fire in them that wasn't there before or maybe was but she just hadn't seen. The fire she saw there she had seen in only one other person. Oh god, she felt, it was a possibility.

    She wasn't scared of the fire though, which shocked her all the more, it was the kind of fire that cauterized not scorched. Blazed but not burned. The kind of fire she used to believe in; and could again. Only in her, only from her for the time being.

    Isabelle knew what Milady was doing, she had the uncanny ability to sense whenever she was being analysed. Milady at least was less brash about it but the sentiment was all the same. The last person who got under her skin had almost killed her after; had wished her dead after he had and she'd be damned if she'd let anyone under her skin completely again.

    For her future love maybe, one day; if she were going to have one but not anyone else.

    It was interesting for them both to finally be able to around women like themselves. Jaded, broken; having done horrible things to survive. Milady was the only one who knew that there was a perceptible difference between them. She knew that only one of them could rise from her circumstances and it sure as hell wasn't going to be her.

    There was only one thing that was becoming certain to her. Isabelle was slowly becoming one of the most intriguing enigmas she had ever seen. One of the best; most definitely.

    Before she could enquire further Isabelle had the look of not wanting to speak again. Fair enough, she knew what it was like not wanting to talk to a person who knew all the terrible things of one's past. Isabelle was apparently no exception.

    Isabelle was currently cursing her Durant caution. She wanted to speak more but felt she shouldn't, couldn't for some reason. She tried blindly searching for the words but none came to know her hand. For the first time in her life she felt unsure of what to do. All her knowledge seemed obsolete in the face of the uncertain circumstances she had weirdly found herself in. War was something that she, surprisingly, had not accounted for. She was starting to hate this feeling; so this is what feeling lost actually feels like, she thought. She had never felt lost before. She always had others and herself to guide her through all her journeys but now she had no one and was stuck in a place she barely knew. With people she barely knew.

    For the first time in her life she felt truly and utterly alone; feeling horrified and desperate all she could do was look out of the carriage completely frozen.

    Milady couldn't help sense the immediate change in Isabelle but couldn't help wondering why it hadn't happened before. Greater people would've buckled sooner if they were in her position. Milady's marvel at Isabelle couldn't help but keep grown. She's a strong one; she'll give her that at least.

    They didn't speak again until the following evening. As ridiculous as Isabelle knew this was; she knew she couldn't afford to be so emotionally vulnerable in such a foreign place just yet, that would come in time. Milady couldn't help agree when Isabelle supplied that as the reason she was so rudely silent for this part of their journey. She waved her away before she could apologize. As the new spymaster for France she knew that every piece of silence was going to be salvation. For her to use to stop thinking all together or to think entirely too much.

    Isabelle then spoke again “I should warn you. If you thought that my cousin was strange, well; he is just a measly drop in the bucket compared to the rest of family,” Milady's eyes widened at that. “However they won't let you leave stumbling around blindly, if that's any comfort.” It was, strangely enough.

    Isabelle wasn't joking. She knew that as soon one of her uncle's eyes; then the other and the other. Her aunts' were no better and their smiles; oh their smiles, she knew that those smiles would always haunt her.

    With not so much as a hint of warning she was rushed to the family's war room, feeling slightly foolish for not guessing that they would have such a facility, and got straight into the brunt of at least one half of her work. For France she could deal with; Paris well that was another story apparently.

    The information alone that the Durant's had was staggering but how they used it was nothing short of breathtaking. Their collective minds taking her down routes she otherwise wouldn't of thought of, avenues she wouldn't have explored and passages she thought closed of from her. The new possibilities opening up to her seemed endless and dazzling and she felt happy. There was a reason she couldn't help but smile after unlocking Rochefort's box of precious documents. She loved this feeling. The feeling of sheer and utter freedom to explore and to learn things she never thought possible when she was younger.

    Though that knowledge came with a price. One that she would come to fully understand before this war was even over.

    It wasn't until the following evening that they all retired finally feeling satisfied at what they had managed to construct. The network was seemingly easy from their perspective but complicated to outsiders looking in and they had bribes and blackmail lined up for the less cooperative components. It was a network that even the former Cardinal would've been impressed by. One Durant said as much over dinner. Milady flinched at the mention of her former employer, still having not fully healed from the scars that being under his protection had given her. This time she didn't have to worry. This time she was in charge and she'd be damned if she let anyone hurt her like that again.

    Rochefort had tipped her over the edge and then Catherine, that was just plain unnecessary.

    They were due to leave for Paris any minute. A carriage would take them as far as it would go in the night and then, with any luck, would be at the city by evening at the latest. She needed to be there as soon as she could. The amount of spies descending unto Paris was terrifying but to know there was no system in place to root them out was even more disturbing. She didn't even want to think about the amount of spies in Paris this very minute.

    Apparently the Durant's also didn't want to think of it too because they were sending more of their own into the city to help the situation. The idea of Durant reinforcements was as comforting as it was alarming; the need for such forces alone... No, Milady thought, don't get over-whelmed yet. Paris is yet to come.

    It was only when they approached Paris the following afternoon that the full weight of their circumstances made itself known. It took sheer force of will for both of the women not to break their iron facades and balk at how much Paris had seemed to have changed. Milady felt disorientated from the mere sight of the city alone. However, they didn't have time to think on such matters. They were expected at the palace. Isabelle would be staying there (and if she had her way) for the foreseeable future and Milady had to convene with Tréville.

    And when she barrelled into his office only a two hours later he registered somewhere in the back of his mind that he had completely and utterly messed up (purely from a personal perspective,) when it came to his choice of spymaster. It was a logical decision but the having the stark reality right there in front of his eyes changed things somewhat.

    “So Tréville when exactly were you going to mention that you made Athos the Captain of Musketeers? Hmm? When were you going to run that by me because I would've surely loved to find out from you than some Durant family member who doesn't even live in Paris.” Oh dear, that was not quite what he was expecting to come out of her mouth. He though it would be more strategy less bold accusations. She was right however, he should've been the one to tell her.

    Truthfully he felt guilty for it was he who gave Athos the appointment that stopped them from reuniting at the crossroads and it was he who was destroying the new life that she in all honesty deserved at this point. He'd been the Minister for War long enough to start to realise that in the end The Musketeers were no better than the Red Guards or any other political soldier because just as the Cardinal was not a good person neither were King Louis or Queen Anne. Queen Anne's actions alone could've cause civil war and were actual treason and he always believed King Louis to be worse than his wife. No wonder the Cardinal became the man that he did. To be around such madness everyday and yet remain as strong as he did well, lets say his respect for the deceased man was growing more with each passing day.

    “I'm sorry,” he eventually managed to say. “You should also know that I appointed him Captain the day you were leaving for the Havre.” She of course had guessed this but it was good to hear it coming from the horse's mouth. “But we have work to do.”

    To that she resigned herself to only speaking to him about what she and the Durants' had managed to come up with so far. Tréville was more than a little impressed at what he was hearing and seeing. To his untrained eye it seemed more than what should be possible and he said as much. She clarified that the Durants' had been working on the France side of things for months which seemed to settle him. He at the start of the whole war had been at a total loss on what to do on the political and espionage front but now it seemed as if he was slowly finding his way. He felt some of the weight from his mind melt away and felt freer than he had in months. Delegation was truly a wonder thing. He was starting to see what had driven the Cardinal to make creatures like Milady. Not that he agreed with the principle but he was starting to understand.

    His reverie was suddenly broken for the second time that evening.

    It was Athos. “Tréville. I've got something that you might what to hear, apparently-” Athos stopped registering that there was someone else in the room. When he finally saw who it was he dropped the letter he was holding and only managed to choke out one short word.

    “Anne.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

   Athos staggered back. His eyes flying wildly between Tréville, Milady and the desk. Hurt by Tréville apparent lack of surprise at Milady's presence.

   Milady wasn't fairing much better. The sudden crash of thundering emotion nearly floored her. Her eyes flickering with every repressed emotion she ever had about Athos.

   There was utter silence. Silence so deafening it was making both Milady and Athos' ears ring. After a stretch of time it dawned on Tréville that only he could break it although he was struggling to find words to say himself. He should've told Athos earlier but just like months ago his timing for telling Athos news was shockingly and depressingly bad. He couldn't help cringe in shame.

   Though that shame was nothing like Athos' because despite everything he couldn't deny how breathtakingly beautiful Milady was. Though as soon as the wonder of having Anne back in his life came it was replaced by a confusion so excruciating he wondered for a brief moment if he was still alive.

   “Athos...” Tréville eventually started.

   “What exactly are you doing here?” he directed at Milady. His words trembling; the effort audible. Milady knew that he was forcing these words out completely against his will. She knew why. This was the first time he questioned rather than assumed her intentions. She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted at that. She thought she was making her intentions quite clear, obviously not.

   “France needed a spymaster,” Tréville continued by way of explanation. Athos irritation increased at that; remembering a specific conversation about a new life and her not wanting to kill without conscience and not wanting to be a creature that lies and cheats. Milady just knew that that was what Athos was thinking about. So instead of wilting under the renewed glare in her husband's eyes she stared right back, defiant against his indignant gait. His eyes pierced her though, striking right into the heart of her and she trembled as well. Soon she was bleeding from the inside out. She was just still too raw.

   For Tréville the increasing tension was becoming almost too unbearable. He'd forgotten just how miserable Athos could be but all of that came screaming back to him. The hang-overs, the drunkenness, the abject sorrow and the wallowing; oh the wallowing. It was painful. What was even more painful was that he was seeing, for the first time, the same thing coming from Milady. It was in her eyes, her shaking hands and her slightly trembling jaw. So this is what they made the other into, he thought, this is what their love did to them. If this was love he was glad he wasn't a part of it, he was glad he had none.

   Athos begrudgingly admitted to himself that Tréville appointment was a good one. No one seemed to know Paris quite as well as Milady but he wouldn't allow her the satisfaction of her hearing that coming from him. Wouldn't allow her the satisfaction of her knowing that he knew she would excel in this position because of the position itself. This position could very well get her killed and he would never allow her to believe that was ever okay for him. It was bad enough for him when Catherine had tried to hang her. He couldn't witness or hear about her death again.

   She was right when she had told him that they were bound to each other. She was right and that scared him so intimately that he still couldn't accept it. Even when he had thought her lost to him forever, again.

   Milady was massaging her wrists then. She could feel chains tightening around then, digging into her skin. She knew that Athos was feeling the same thing; she was, she had to be right about this. It was crucial. She harked back to the time when she told them about her being bonded with him; if only she knew then how unsettlingly accurate she was being, she may have payed closer attention to them, to it all really.

   But ultimately there was still a chasm between them, a chasm of their making. She had tried to cross it but had been shot unceremoniously more than once. It was his turn to reach out for her. His time to redeem himself to her. For too long now has it been one sided. Too long now has she been assigned most of the blame; well she had had enough.

   Time to wake up now Athos, time to wake up.

   Instead of waking up Athos was crashing at a spectacular rate. He couldn't get a handle of himself or the situation and his control was slipping through his fingers. With every single second he kept spending time in the room with Anne the more he had to battle every single instinct he had. He didn't know whether he wanted to kiss or damage Milady more and that was dangerous to put it bluntly.

   So he did the only thing he could do. He ran. Ran out of that damned room, the palace and didn't dare stop until he reached garrison and then proceeded to run up the stairs to his office leaving behind confusion and startled Musketeers in his wake.

   Tréville couldn't help hang his head in exhaustion, too tired of Athos and his pain and his inability to deal with it with any sort of pride or dignity. Milady was not at all surprised. She was surprised that he stayed at all, not to mention for as long as he did. She thought he would've ran as soon as he'd spotted her. Out of anger or shame she wouldn't have been able to guess but it would've been running from her all the same.

   All Milady could do was rather gingerly walk towards the letter than Athos had dropped and calmly examine its contents. Ignoring the fact that her heart was still racing. The contents of the letter were useful enough, she thought, at least her reuniting with Athos wasn't a total waste of time.

   Denial had always been her poison of choice when it came to dealing with Athos' affect on her. This poison admittedly only used by her since the incident.

   Tréville just stood there marveling at Milady's restraint. Such an actress, he couldn't help but think. The Cardinal dead for over a year and still such an actress. He had hopes that he would finally get to meet this Anne that Athos had been so broken over but apparently it wouldn't be today; or ever he had to add. He wondered if Milady and Athos could even properly reconcile at this point, it just seemed that there was too much bad blood between them. Too many scars to heal and overcome.

   All he could do after that disaster was go back over his desk, pick the letter up, read it himself and take it in. The information was useful at least.

   Oh god, what had he done.

   In the mean time Athos was drinking himself into an early grave. He just had the misfortune in doing so of gaining the attention of the entire garrison. And as soon as he slammed the door of his office Aramis, Constance, D'Artagnan and Porthos leaped into action. What was it now they couldn't help think. They hadn't seen him this distressed since they all learned the news of Milady's departure from the Havre. No one could look Athos in the eye apart from D'Artagnan and what he had seen there had horrified him ever since. And he thought looking into Athos' eyes in Pinon was a bad as it could get.

   This time was worse. As soon as he barged into his office they knew and they all recoiled at the sight of his eyes. It would've been better if his eyes were just hopeless but they weren't. They were a toxic swirl of lust, shame, anger, hope and pretty much every single emotion that Athos was capable of feeling and it was ugly. And if there was one word that they never wanted to associate with him was ugly.

   “What happened to you?” Porthos eventually ventured. “And no hiding. We deserve to know what's wrong. All of us do.” Athos couldn't disagree with that. He knew owed them all. He knew he owed them explanations, reasons and all of those in a timely manner. He wouldn't deny them at least this truth no matter how much he despised it. They after all had despised keeping their questions to themselves afraid of his reaction.

   That stopped now.

   “Milady's in Paris.” The room was visibly shaking at this point, “And she 's the new spymaster.” Athos grated out. His teeth barely wanting to make the words.

   “She's what?” D'Artagnan shouted. His anger evident and loud.

   “Don't make me repeat myself, D'Artagnan. I'm not in the mood.” Athos hissed, his voice vaguely threatening.

   Silence reigned after that. All of them reeling about what this could possibly mean for The Musketeers, for Paris and ultimately for France. Though all of them agreed on at least one thing. Milady truly was the best person for the job, her knowledge of the goings on in Paris was ridiculous and impressive all at once. Constance perhaps felt the most troubled. Her mind immediately flying to her queen.

   Queen Anne didn't know what was about to hit her. If only Constance knew of what really hid in the shadows. Knew who truly would affect the Queen the most.

   The Musketeers thoughts were with the King. If only the King could know that his new spymaster, a position so crucial to winning this war, was about to be occupied by his former mistress. Athos was unsurprisingly almost physically sick at the thought of that affair. If only he knew about what else Milady had been getting up to.

   It was probably the best considering the circumstances. And the amount of wine he had just drunk.

   “I must mention that Tréville wasn't surprised at her appearance. After all he was the person who chose her.” Athos relayed with just enough energy to see him through to the end of his statement.

   Tréville, they couldn't all help but gasp. They knew that he was becoming more pragmatic as the war progressed but they would've never expected this sort of decision from him. It was almost ridiculous if it wasn't so harrowing. Tréville wouldn't be coming back to the Musketeers they all realized. He wouldn't be coming home, ever. He would be a minister for the rest of his life. But they couldn't mourn that though. They knew that much at least.

   They all just stood around. Waiting for something, anything to break the ice that had suddenly invaded the room but fire never came. They all just stood there, hardly blinking. It wasn't until they heard the wine bottle that Athos was holding clatter to the ground that they were startled to action.

   They were pleading with the universe for a mission but all they got was the blank answer of night. They all had to go to bed uneasy, filled with more questions than answers and wondering for the first time since war broke out what the hell they had just been flung into.

   Athos had the worst time of it. He just tossed and tossed and tossed but no peace or rest came to him until he got up grabbed three bottles of wine and drunk them all in quick succession, one right after the other. He would find himself in one of the worst hang-overs in his life come morning.

   Isabelle was one edge. She kept walking up and down her assigned room with such vigor that if there were anyone else in the room they'd think her mad. The only thing that stopped this nervous tick of hers was a rap on the door and an announcement.

   “The King and Queen will see you now.” And off she went to the Great hall once again. To once again petition the King and Queen. She could see that they were surprised to say the least that she was here but relieved as well. It had been a long time since a Durant had visited and stayed at the place and Louis couldn't help but feel pleased and comforted at this.

   “Speak Isabelle Sutherland. What is your request?” In her periphery she saw the Musketeers and their new Captain. His eyes were not like they were the last time she was in Paris and she couldn't help but wonder why. Her eyes were soon drawn to another Musketeer, if she remembered correctly his name was Porthos, and she smiled at him. He looked taken aback but smiled back nonetheless. She had liked him the most out of all the Musketeers she had gotten to know in her previous visit. He was so light but she knew there was something more beneath the surface. She deeply, honestly felt that he was another enigma like her. She didn't know how right she was.

   “Well Your Majesty I wish to become one of your ladies in waiting.” Anne gasped in pure delight over this. “I have been made aware of your recent troubles in this area and wish to offer my services to my new country for I will be staying In France for the foreseeable future.” After a subtle flinch Anne's face grew wider. “And I assure you I'm not so easily manipulated. I'm a Durant after all.” Anne just stared at Isabelle her eyes awash with gratitude. To have a Durant offer her support so readily with it seems her family's permission. That meant only one thing. The Durants' were allying themselves completely with France.

   “How wonderful. To have a Durant in the palace. What do you think, my dear?” King Louis added. It was clear that the prospect of having a stronger connection and stronger alliance with the Durant was the kind of good news he needed to hear at the moment.

   “I think the idea is absolutely splendid. I will have you moved into a room closer to mine immediately.” Isabelle nearly cried out in sheer joy after hearing that.

   Everyone was dismissed after that and she was soon rushed away to the Queen's apartments. She was only stopped just before the entrance. She was promptly introduced to the rest of the ladies in waiting though one stood out in particular. Constance was her name. She vaguely remembered her from her earlier visit. She seemed to hover around the Musketeer D'Artagnan she seemed to recall. A soldier's wife. Brilliant, she thought.

   She immediately saw the her things being carried around and felt truly accomplished. To secure such a position in the royal palace and not even being in the country for a month. Such an advancement was almost unheard of; but then she took her family into account and well it was almost diminished in her eyes.

   She put that all in the back of her mind when she was finally allowed entrance in to her Majesty's apartments. They were regal, refined and ravishing. Now this was the kind of place she always wanted to work in and now she was and her eyes brimmed with tears again. She sobered immediately. She was at court and not at home. This was no place to show emotion or weakness; at least not yet.

   Anne started, dismissing everyone but Constance. Interesting. “Constance will tell you how things are run but first may I ask; what are you doing back in Paris? I thought you had returned to Scotland.” Time for the difficult truth.

   “Well the men who blamed my entire family for my father's death had other ideas. They would've killed me if I stayed. It seemed as if my mission to reveal the truth had embarrassed them.” The Queen looked at her is sheer pity. Poor thing; to have been chased out of her own home by such animals, how strong she must be. She's stronger than her most definitely.

   However Constance wasn't buying it. Isabelle's story just felt too odd to her. When Isabelle saw that Constance was displeased she knew she would have to say everything. Besides she didn't want to lie to the Queen more than she had to.

   “Besides they stole money from me which I stole back, much to their irritation. You see it was me who killed my father.” At The Queen's disgust she quickly rushed through her next sentence. “ I had good reason. I was married young, at fifteen just like you, your majesty.” Anne felt empathy for her at that. “I was married for five years and yet had no children. I felt like I was barren and told my father this in a moment of weakness.” Constance and Anne both looked puzzled as to where this was going.

   Isabelle sighed; the memories were coming back to her. “He decided to marry me off to another. And it just so happened to be a friend's brother. This man was not a kind man. He would beat his sisters, hit his wife, and finally when she couldn't give him a male heir beat her to death.” The women gasped in sheer horror at that and they felt genuine pain for Isabelle. “Now my being barren would likely get myself killed so I did the only thing I could. I fought for my honour; which is a Sutherland tradition. So there I was fighting my father and when I looked in his eyes I could see no hint of love or any kind of emotion in them.”

   At this point Isabelle's entire body was shaking from reliving that memory again. So much so that Constance felt compelled to hold her hand and comfort the poor girl right in front of her.

   “And when I asked him why he said that I'd become a burden but he didn't want to be the one to deal with me personally. He knew that I would be killed by that villain and he did it anyway. I never meant to kill him but it was either his life or mine and considering my father was a man that couldn't even love his own children I have to believe chose right.” Isabelle concluded her voice shaking much in the same way as it did when she recounted her tragic tale to Milady. Anne and Constance were nearly paralyzed.

   The only thing that Anne could do was ask, “How long ago was this?”

   “It was a year ago, your Majesty. One painful long year ago. The worst thing is I believe that being chased out from my home was the best thing that could've ever happened to me.” Constance was at a complete loss.

   There she was, a courageous woman, who defied everything to live. She can't imagine the emotional torment this women was going through. To find out that her father didn't love her and wanted her dead in the same day. She couldn't help but marvel at Isabelle. To still be standing and walking today, she certainly wouldn't be if she was in Isabelle's situation.

   Anne was much the same. She felt such kinship with this young woman. She knew the sting of betrayal that came with the thought of knowing of a male relative's betrayal. Yet at least she knew that her brother never intended for her to die and that he still somewhat cared for her. To suddenly be flung with the knowledge that her father, her own father didn't love her; what agony that must have been.

   They felt touched. For her to have told them her story so that they'd both never question her allegiance. To say such a thing when she barely even knew them. For her to trust them like this.

   “I should also state that I hired the men who then ran me out of my own country to say that they'd done it; they then proceeded to blame my family thus also betraying me. You can say that my ability to trust is frayed at this point.” The both of them couldn't help but agree with that sentiment; even Constance.

   Constance was feeling guilty for being suspicious of Isabelle. Marguerite evidently still haunting and driving her. She shouldn't be using her to punish other woman especially not one so young and fragile. She having started to see the cracks in Isabelle's perfectly made armour. Constance did the only thing she could do because it was clear that words alone weren't going to be enough and hugged Isabelle.

   Isabelle jerked in surprise but then settled into the embrace. A small sweet smile growing just a little.

   So this is what comfort feels like, she thought. She could use more of this; and she would get it. Not here but later. Constance would make sure of it. She didn't want this woman to be haunted like she was. She deserved to move on from and move out from underneath her father's shadows. Her father had delivered such a great injustice to this woman. She guessed that's why she came here. To put it right at least in whatever way she could.

   The Queen just sat there in contemplation. She felt compelled to help this woman. Compelled to make her feel as safe as she could and to help her find the happiness she was in no doubt bereft of. What Isabelle said next stunned her.

   “To that end I would like to offer my services in helping to protect your life, your Majesty. I would like to humbly request to be your secret bodyguard until you see fit to release me from the added obligation.”

   Constance and the Queen were yet again stunned into near inaction at this brave young woman. It was clear that she would be up to the task. Killing ones father in a duel could only be done if one had the required skill. Though that's where at least the Queen was stuck. She couldn't have any of her ladies in waiting carry around a sword, it would be too unseemly.

   “I'm proficient in both sword and knife, your Majesty.” Isabelle continued. “You see my brother's taught me how to fight and to hunt. I'm also quite good with a bow but blades are more concealable.” The Queen sighed in relief at that.

    Well it was obvious that Isabelle had thought through this whole thing and after Rochefort she needed as much reassurance and added protection as she could. She would've been able to rely on just Constance if it weren't for the fact that Constance was needed in the her husbands garrison more that she felt comfortable with. To have another woman that could fight and had permission to would only help her Majesty in the end.

   “Very well. I will allow this only on one condition. That you also whenever Constance is unable to; help at the Musketeer garrison. They've often needed a woman present as of late to help them.” Isabelle balked at the odd request but accepted it nonetheless.

   She could barely conceal her amusement at Constance's very visible relief after she accepted the offer. It seemed as if life in the Musketeer garrison was a tough one if that was the reaction that Constance had.

   There might have also been another reason for her accepting that condition.

   They continued on with the day after that were necessary but strange prelude. Constance interjecting where needed; on etiquette, protocol or helpful suggestions on how to act in certain undefined situations. Isabelle felt an easy rapport spring up between her and Constance. It wasn't as deep as perhaps hers and Milady's but it was there all the same. Her one with the Queen was a little less and a little harder but she could tell that the Queen was trying and she felt immensely humbled at that.

   It was a good start was all she could really say in the end.

   The trouble started when she was whisked away to the Musketeer garrison. After only allowing herself to be dragged to it after multiple assurances from her Majesty. She barely had time to comprehend what was happening to her but by the time that she did she was already in the Captain's office with the four Musketeers that were in the Great hall from earlier. She stumbled a bit before composing herself. Only pausing long enough to scowl in Constance's direction. To say that the Musketeers were surprised at this development was to say that life was hard. They had no idea as to why the new lady in waiting was in the office let alone in the garrison at all.

   Constance just beamed and said, “Isabelle has agreed to help around the garrison. If I'm unavailable to help you when you need me then she will help you instead.”

   D'Artagnan's eyebrows flew up at that whilst the rest stared at Isabelle not quite believing what they had just been told. “Really?” Porthos couldn't help ask, intrigued at the prospect.

   “Really,” was all that Isabelle replied her eyes dancing in Porthos direction. A hint of a smirk gracing her features. Porthos inwardly laughed at such a display of innate defiance. He couldn't help but be drawn to her. There was something about, especially her eyes, that interested him and it had been far too long since any woman had interested him in any way.

   Athos on the other hand was almost about to have none of it. He couldn't have another woman in the garrison that wasn't connected to the Musketeers. It was first of all too dangerous and frankly Isabelle reminded him just a little too much of Milady and Anne. He was just about to protest but Aramis beat him to the punch.

   “I'm sorry mademoiselle but how could you possibly help us? We're soldiers not nobility.” Aramis stated as if recounting the obvious.

   “Well if you must know I was taught how to fight with pistol, bow and sword by my brothers and know how to use a knife and a blade for I was also taught how to hunt. Is that enough for you?” At this the entire room bar Constance was absolutely stupefied. Aramis couldn't help but feel impressed. D'Artagnan couldn't believe it, Athos was now completely livid because he had no excuse to bar her from the garrison, and Porthos was overjoyed.

   Isabelle just stood there as proud as ever until she could actually see Athos' face, his hand apparently had become its new home, and she watched him sigh.

   “Before you vote on whether or not you'll allow me to stay I must inform you that my presence here comes from the express wishes of her Majesty herself.” That was it Athos was completely done for. There was no way he possibly stop this now even if he were to try. All he could was nod and start to itch for another glass of wine. The day's stresses creeping up all at once. It took all his power not to dismiss everyone. He knew that wouldn't go down well. He just sat down awaiting what was about to come next. What came next he didn't see coming. For she was about to say what she had said earlier and what she was about to say would leave Athos reeling in absolute guilt.

   So she regaled the entire room of her tale of woe. The men affronted when expected and surprised when needed. They acted like the perfect audience except they weren't. They were just a couple of men watching in horror as a young woman told them the story of her tyrannical and abusive father. Their anger increasing at every indication that her father was a heartless man. At the end when the dust settled all they could do was stare at her wondering how she was still breathing after all that she had been through.

   For Porthos it was like looking at at a near perfect reflection. For she was like him, a person who had to whatever was necessary to survive whatever the consequences, a person who had a father who wasn't worth a damn and didn't give a damn back, and a person whose eyes still called, sought out for justice. Her eyes gleaming with hate for the injustice in life and a desire to fight for the opposite. So this is the kind of person he could've become if it was his father that raised him. Porthos couldn't help feel that he had gotten the better end of the stick.

   Isabelle was breathing heavily; not having become used to the sensation of bringing up her broken and weeping memories up even twice in one day. It was a constant effort all the way through to dive into the pool of anguish that was her past with her father and then to have to come up breathing even though the water kept pulling her downwards. Down below the surface to a watery grave. She almost collapsed but she did shudder.

   Suddenly Porthos was there to catch her if need be but she recovered in time; though she did look at him in thanks, feeling ever so slightly warmed by his presence. It was during that time that Athos felt steadily guiltier over his initial reaction to her. He felt as if her personally owed her an apology but couldn't quite understand why. It's just that after hearing of her being betrayed by a man she so heavily depended on unearthed something from deep inside him and he felt as if her were about to cry. It was like his subconscious was trying to tell him something. He didn't think long on it. He felt that if he did there would almost no end to that pathway of thought and he wasn't ready for that.

   It seemed as if he would no respite for the evening because as soon as he felt like he could ever so slightly relax he heard the absolute thunder of hooves outside in the courtyard. He was suddenly alert and wondered who the hell it could be at this time of night. If it was Tréville then he would calmly ask him to leave. He was still sore after the revelation that Tréville was the one who managed to bring his wife back to the county and not him himself.

   It was then he heard the clatter of boots on the stairs and in preparation closed his eyes to calm down. It might just be an envoy from the King or another Musketeer who was out on patrol and saw something suspicious he felt he needed to report.

   It wasn't. It was his wife. His wife he yet again was not expecting to see. Acting as is she owned the place. Though it seemed as if she wasn't looking for him. It was like she didn't even notice that he was in the room. He saw her eyes hone in on Constance and she felt the sudden urge to protect Constance then. He didn't like the look that his wife was giving her.

   “Where is she?” That wasn't what he expected her to say at all. “Where is Isabelle Sutherland, Constance? I know you brought her here, remember I have informants everywhere, and I know she's in the garrison.” Milady was obviously not pleased at the development. If only she knew what had transpired earlier she wouldn't have been so hasty but she had promises to keep and people who depended on her.

   “Why do you need to know?” Isabelle not noticing anything that was going on around her; she was still recovering from the emotional upheaval of recounting her life story once again.

   “I have made a promise to her family. The Durant family if you must know and I intend to keep it. I have to make sure that she's safe or they will, although metaphorically, have my head and I don't wish for that to happen so soon into this war.” Milady stated knowing that it would have the desired affect on the Musketeers.

   It was at the mention of her family's name that Isabelle moved and turned around. Milady breathed a sigh of relief and was about to beacon her to come back to the palace when the sight of her husband made her stop. She had forgotten that this was no longer Tréville's office.

   She stared at her husband for the second time that week. This time she would break it and as she was about to Isabelle finally spoke again.

   “Thank you for coming for me Milady,” Isabelle said in the barren atmosphere, “I would like to leave as fast as possible. I just finished telling them of what transpired in Scotland and I feel quite exhausted. You are a good friend Milady.”

   Wait, friend! They all inwardly exclaimed. Did Isabelle really just call Milady her friend. Wait how did Isabelle even know Milady. It was Constance who spoke up this time around, “Wait a minute. How do you know Milady?”

   “I know Milady from court of course,” Isabelle said as if stating the obvious but all she got was more confused looks. “You see the only place I could go after returning from Paris was the English court where I met Milady. She was quite a prominent fixture and she ended up saving my life when those thugs tried to have me killed.” By way of explanation. Though it left one burning question. How did Milady become a part of the English court at all. By all accounts it should've been impossible. Why would anyone allow the former, disgraced mistress of the French King into the English court, it made no sense because surely someone must have been informed about Milady de Winter.

   “How exactly did you meet her?” Constance continued.

   “Well it was the day that the Duke of Buckingham returned from Dover. Milady had become his new mistress.” Milady froze at that whilst Isabelle stood there nonplussed wondering why everyone seemed to react to the news so drastically especially the Captain. And Athos well he was just sick to his stomach at his wife becoming a mistress again to survive. What kind of hell was this. What kind of sick torture.

   “Why? What does it matter to you? Why do you care abut Milady?” Everyone shifted about. Milady couldn't look anyone in the eye and Athos felt like he was drowning but everyone knew that Isabelle deserved to know the truth about what was going on. What It would mean for her to be friends with both Milady and Constance and ultimately why Athos would be a prominent fixture in her life from now one.

   Athos sighed again trying as hard as he could to relieve himself of the tension in his overburdened shoulders, “Well for one thing she has wanted me dead in the past and the other well; she's my wife.”

   At that Isabelle descended down upon him her eyes ablaze in a way they'd never been before. “So you're the husband.” Her voice coming out strained and terrifying. “You're the man who sent my friend to her death all because she lied to you. You disgust me.” Her words felt like punches to his already bruised psyche.

   For the first time there was someone clearly on Milady's side and it had to be the most powerful person in the room.

   Oh god.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Had too many obligations.

Chapter 5.

   The air in the room was so thick. It thundered. The tables had been turned, the odds were now in Milady's favour and Athos was terrified. He was also cursing himself for he seemed to have suddenly lost the ability to move his eyes. His eyes seemed to be entrenched in Isabelle's and he didn't like what he found there. It was a wretched sort of hatred without none of the love he'd come to find in the corner of it and it was turning his soul blacker every second. Thankfully it didn't last much longer for Isabelle was stronger that Athos and cut the poisonous chord first. Not before shooting him one last glare that put the fear of God in him. Athos was truly doomed.

   In the meantime one other person mind was turning rapidly, well two. It didn't surprise Constance that Isabelle would become friends with the likes of Milady but it sure as hell surprised D'Artagnan. He obviously not making the connection that Isabelle viewed Athos as Milady's version of her father. Though he couldn't deny that she had looked at Athos the same way that she had looked when she was discussing her father's vile actions against her and that unsettled him. That unsettled him immensely. Athos was a good man, he was no villain. Athos was a good man he repeated to himself trying desperately not to recognize how hollow the words sounded. Athos is a good man he said again, he has to be because if he isn't; if he isn't then what was he. Athos had been his role-model when he was trying to become a Musketeer. If Athos wasn't a good man and he followed his example then he wasn't either and that was a reality he just couldn't live with.

   The other mind that was turning was of course Milady's and she felt, for one of a better word, happy at Isabelle's obvious declaration of loyalty. If this is what vindication fells like, she thinks, she was a fool not to seek it out years ago but as always Athos had clouded things. It's always hard to do things for oneself when one is so used to doings things for others. Athos, the Cardinal, the King; the list seemed to never end but one man would always be the most important person of them all and it was the man who could barely look at her right now. So much for being brave; though she knew he was always a true cowards about the most important things. As always she was disappointed but not surprised.

   Getting back to the matter at hand. All that Milady could do was look at Isabelle in thanks but Isabelle waved it away. There's no need her eyes seemed to say. She would do this for any of her friends, why would she be any different. Yes why would she be any different. This is what friends do is it not; defend each other when ungraciously attacked. After all she was preparing to do the exact same thing when she heard that Isabelle had been dragged away to the garrison. At this realisation another bout of warmth spread throughout Milady's body. She was truly starting to like this whole friendship thing and for once she was going to make the most of it instead of implicitly waiting for Athos' approval to do so. She was done lowering herself to raise him up and this was as good a time as any to start showing him that. She gave one more look to Isabelle hoping she would find the right meaning in her eyes and when she did all that Isabelle did was nod. This isn't going to be pretty, Isabelle thought, not even a little bit.

   Milady was the one to break the ever increasing silence, “Well now that we've all been introduced to each other I think it's best if Isabelle and I leave. We have to get back to the palace after all. Wouldn't want Isabelle tired on her first day as a lady in waiting to the Queen, would we?” At that everyone balked having forgotten the other powerful ally that Isabelle had at court. Dear god, was there anyone this young woman wasn't connected to. “I also hope that this doesn't alter whatever arrangement she has with the Musketeers, Captain?” Her voice was not becoming at all.

   Athos shook his head his words failing him.

   With that Milady and Isabelle made themselves presentable before finally walking out of that damned office. It wasn't until a few seconds after they left that the evening's events slowly sunk in. Athos soon started to think. She came; despite knowing that he had become Captain and likely to be at the garrison, she came. Not fully realizing that at the present moment that Isabelle's safety and whereabouts were far more important to her than he. He felt a small bit of dangerous hope spring up in his heart and abandoning all sense of common decency ran after her.

   Not again, she was not escaping his clutches again.

   “Anne.” he shouted his voice filling up every crevice of the courtyard. Milady jumped at that. Athos could help but feel satisfied at that. Good, he could still make her react in such a way. That was very good. Though that sense of confidence soon dropped when he saw that he had drawn in an audience. His friends in one corner wondering what the hell had just gotten into their friend and the other; Musketeers wondering who the hell could make their Captain look like what he currently was.

   He for one wild moment didn't care for he still hadn't seen the face of the person most important to him; hers. For she was already on her horse readying to leave. Someone else must have helped her. He snarled at the thought.

   It was only after she saw the gathering crowd she knew she had to respond. Curse him and his advantage. Curse him for reminding her that whatever friends she would come to make he would always have more. So she turned round to see him for the last time that evening.

   “Later, Athos.” When there are no people watching the pathetic tragedy that is us, present but not said. “Later,” with that she left. Her soul much more hot and retched that what she had envisioned earlier on in the evening.

   Athos visibly shook with the promise that he would see her again. It was more that he had to go on for months and his heart almost couldn't take it. He wasn't a fool though he knew that this would be final chance with her. He vowed to make the most of it. What he was a fool to was that Milady didn't have the same inclination. She had a safe life in England and she hoped to return to it once her conscience was clear and she knew that Athos had remained alive. It was the least she could do, she thought.

   He'd forgotten that she didn't know about the glove. She would though. Of course she would.

   Though that didn't stop one traitorous thought slipping into her mind. She had looked in his eyes; seen what was in them, truly in them instead of the blankness she'd come to associate. She saw it. She had seen hope and knew, just knew. She threw that thought away into the recesses of her mind. No, she thought, there are more important things to worry about; and yet.

   And yet.

   It was in this interaction that every Musketeer knew whether new or old, cadet or friend that they would never understand their Captain as well as that woman did. For that brief moment their was such a sense of understanding that it overwhelmed everyone in the vicinity because not once did anyone there believe that Athos could act like that but evidently she did. She may have been startled but they all saw the resignation afterwards, the sigh, the slump of her shoulders. For the rest of the Musketeers all they felt was sheer puzzlement; why would the King's former mistress understand their Captain so and why were his inner circle looking so affronted at the display; surely they must have known.

   They didn't and they were angry. This is exactly what they didn't want to see. The evidence for their deepest fear when it came to their friend. That they couldn't help him as much as they wanted because they would never know him as much as the person who was the reason why their friend needed help so much and there they had it. They were truly and utterly helpless and their only hope had just ridden out of the garrison. D'Artagnan was the first to storm away thinking all while. Why did it have to Milady, why did it have to be her. Why was she their friend's only salvation.

   Constance only arrived in time to stop him from throwing his wine glass to the floor in agony and all she could do was watch him curl into himself and cry over Athos' soul. But when her resolve waned so did she; she joined him on their bed destitute. They hated this stupid war.

   Aramis was beside himself to. He knew what it help like to have ones happiness so wholly dependent on a woman and many a time did he pray that his friends wouldn't suffer what he had . Though he was too late. Athos was damned before that had ever even met. One day Aramis would figure that out eventually but now all he could feel was faithless and hopeless and he ran to his own horse. He needed his own Anne's comfort or presence at least.

   Porthos was the only one who didn't go completely insane at the revelation. He always kind of knew it but seeing was a whole different animal. He was the only one who stayed. Though all he could think was Christ he really needed to get a woman of his own to keep him sane because all of this was starting to become just a little too much.

   He went through all the women he had known in his life but only one really leaped out at him. The very one that he had learned all about that night. He couldn't stop thinking about Isabelle; her bravery in face of such absurdly cruel adversity, her strength against her own clearly broken psyche but above all her eyes- her eyes that were just like his. Her eyes bright with the flame of justice; one he knew all too well. One that he wished were more present in the world but sadly wasn't and which he needed to bring; seems like she felt the need to bring it too. She was attractive to be sure but what interested him more was her french. The way she spoke it like she was a french woman but not one like her family. Her use of it more honest, more direct like the way he had gotten used to people speaking in the Court of Miracles. It was nice.

   Though if there was one things that was clear about her story it was this, she was french through and through. She wore the Durant name with too much pride not to be. Porthos didn't know how to feel about it. God he didn't even know what she felt about it but he wanted to, Lord knows he wanted to.

   It was her eyes, he would come to say, it was her eyes.

   It was only when she reached the palace that Isabelle could actually think about the epic disaster of that evening. She couldn't believe what she had just done. Her hands were still shaking, though not about telling them her story that was necessary, but for her blatant disrespect toward the Captain of the Musketeers. She was a woman for crying out loud; women were not allowed to do things like that but yet it felt so wonderful. To tell a man, a relative stranger, what she really thought about them. It was a rush, a rush she had never felt before; had never been able to feel before because of blasted court etiquette. Etiquette; the kind of which she needed for her job. She groaned, this all for the sake of her own safety and need. She was starting to really loathe necessity. It was causing her to do things she really didn't like.

   Though there was one pin prick of light in that whole storm of an evening. The lightning before the calamitous thunder.

   Him.

   Specifically Porthos. He seemed to be the only Musketeer to truly sympathize with her past circumstances. His eyes told her everything she needed to know, everything she needed to continue telling her story; sordid detail after bloody sordid detail. His eyes never flinched, never wavered from hers. His eyes were a comfort to her like no other pair of eyes had been before and oh how she yearned for more of it now. More of this touch, his crazed smile, his sweet nature. She had seen all of it before when she was in France last but didn't have the time to contemplate how she felt about it. Now she did and she liked what she saw. To have it directed at her; that would be the most wondrous thing. She almost didn't dare to think; to imagine such a fruitful prospect but she did.

   This must be how all great things start, she thought smiling outwardly. This must be how her greatness starts.

   It wasn't until the cold light of morning the next day that the garrison began to settle once more and after the events of the other night some of the cadets were itching for some free time, some time to be able to run out the garrison to really think about the craziness that they unwittingly had signed up for.

   It was of the utmost importance for two cadets in particular. They both had ladies of their own, or hopefully had ladies of their own to see.

   Thankfully it wasn't long they had to wait for their answer to all their silent prayers. It was just one sentence from Porthos of all people that released them from the garrison and this time Jean-Jacques and Jean-Pierre wasted no time readying a horse before they set off in completely opposite directions again. They both for the first time since the start of the war had hope in their hearts instead of their minds.

   Jean-Jacques got to his destination first; for he was the faster runner of the two. Reason being; he had much more practice in running, more specifically running from the Red Guards, whenever he acted like the revolutionary he was. He stopped at the place he remembered Sylvie taking to him before, thank God for his brilliant memory.

   He chapped at the door and said, “Hello; if Mademoiselle Sylvie and Monsieur Armand still reside here tell them that Monsieur Jean-Jacques has come to see them.” Inwardly he prayed that Armand wasn't in. He always hated being caught flirting in front of him. That and his infuriating smirk.

   It was her voice that answered, “Monsieur Armand isn't in but can you do with just Mademoiselle Sylvie.” Her voice having a playful, mocking ring to it and he laughed lightly in relief as the door swung open. It was obvious from her tone that she had remembered him. That's a good sign, he thought.

   “Can I come in?” he teased in his usual manner although his smirk wasn't. It was a different beast altogether. She stood aside to let him past but not without stepping forward a little when he reached her ensuring that their bodies brushed up against each other first. The worst of it was that she had the gall to not even look a little abashed. Jacques had the fortune to see right through the act though; and he liked what he saw underneath. She really was his kind of woman.

   Sylvie was clearly a believer that woman should be able to make the first move.

   “I must tell you Jacques that I pretty much know all about you. Armand told me or rather I forced Armand to tell me all about you,” knew it. “and what he had to say about you. Well to be honest it rather intrigued me. A revolutionary and a soldier who would've thought.” Yes who would've. “Do your new friends know about your political inclinations?” He didn't answer, he was too enthralled by this presumptive woman, but he didn't have to. “That's what I thought.”

   She was right in front of him now. Her eyes gleaming and her smile just a wicked as his smirk. Oh dear god he never thought that his smirk would look good on a woman but clearly he was wrong.

   Her fingers were entangling themselves in his shirt now, her eyes flicked down to his lips. It was like the script had reversed itself for it was normally he who would approach a potential partner like this. This was obviously not one of those time and he loved it.

   Without a second moment to overthink her mouth was on his and it was heavenly. This was the first time that a kiss felt heavenly to him and he wasn't going to waste it. So without a moment to spare he wrapped his dominant hand around her head whilst the other held her waist in place. It was passionate but he could hardly call it sinful; there was something much too sweet about it, about her for it to be. It wasn't until they both moaned together that they stopped; only noticing then that they didn't really know the other all that well.

   It was tense for a few moments before Jacques asked the most important question. “So dear Sylvie, what made you become a revolutionary?” She was thankful that he started off their conversation on the right foot at least.

   So they spent the entire day getting to know the other. Their pasts, their hopes, what they wanted out of this unjust life. It took them that long because without warning they would be swept up in passionate rants about the treatment of the poor, treatment of the rich, and the corruption within the government of the country and the despair they felt because it all; both the state of the country and the incessant corruption within the system itself. It was also then they found out about their reasons for becoming a part of the revolution. For she it was because she was a refugee neglected by the very country who promised to protect the likes of her and him a former soldier's son whose country, the very own he fought and was irreparably impaired for, abandoned him and his family to rot on the streets.

   She said that he was insane for doing the same thing and he told her that she was right. He was insane but then again every good revolutionary had to be. One had to be insane to fight against the system he told her, to fight against the status quo and she couldn't help but agree. She always believed herself to be insane but it was good to have it confirmed. It wasn't always a bad thing to be insane. She often found that the maddest of people were in fact the most brilliant. So to be called insane was actually a compliment to her; it meant that people were scared of her mind. It was nice to talk to someone who understood that concept; who had a similar mind to hers. To find ones intellectual equal in the world was a hard thing to do and she had a feeling that she had just found hers. She never could resist a quick witted rogue but a kind one. The kind ones were her true weakness and he had kindness in spades. She saw it in the way he described his siblings, his parents, his nieces and nephews but more importantly when he described children; just children. How he longed for the days when no children were born hungry or destitute.

   Yes she had truly found her equal. In a time of war. How ironic.

   To no ones surprise he was thinking the same thing. It was a sick kind of coincidence that he should find his true sweetheart in such dreadful times but alas fate and its twisted sense of humour seemed to have reared its ugly head once more. He would have shot it if he could; if only on principle because to be honest he was happy and he'd be damned if he weren't grateful for it.

   It wasn't until later that evening he returned to the garrison feeling more buoyed than usual. He was greeted with incredulous stares for no one had ever seen him smile; truly smile before and although it wasn't the most unpleasant sight they'd ever seen it was one of the strangest. However they knew that they'd be seeing a lot more of it and resigned themselves to get used to it as fast as possible. For they really did want to see it more often. It was nice.

   Jean-Pierre had a very different albeit not a bad day himself. He went to Marais and went to the house that Elodie has instructed him to go to. To his very marked disappointment she wasn't there but resolved himself to stay like the gentlemen he was until she returned. He knew she would be far more displeased with him if he left or at least that what he hoped she would feel. If there was anything he didn't like more than being apart from cruel was presumptive.

   She returned within the hour and was overjoyed at his presence. She had been thinking of him that morning and wished he'd come to visit her. Not that she didn't like Paris but it was very different to her countryside home and she didn't have anyone to talk to apart from her Madame and even then her Madame was usually away attending to her social duties. She was starting to feel quite lonely, ironic considering the size of the city and the immensity of its population.

   Pierre had felt this to when he had first arrived in the city; him being a quiet, country boy as well. It was only when he had become a Musketeer that the loneliness started to evaporate but even then there was no one like him in the garrison. He was starting to feel the effects of homesickness and he didn't like it all. He needed comfort. He needed familiarity. She had felt familiar to him even though they only had a brief moment together. She was like the girls back home. Pure, sweet, and humble; just like him.

   They left together to walk around Marais; though only after her Madame had dismissed her, this being one of the rare days she was actually at home. They set off not caring a single drop as to where they were going. The only indication of them being concerned about their being was the way that Pierre was holding his sword and even then his grip was lax; him being too engrossed with Elodie and what she was saying to pay attention to it all.

   They spoke endlessly about their hobbies, their interests, they way they grew up and how proud they were to work for such wonder individuals. The very cream of noble crop. They didn't touch. They wouldn't until they could confirm that they officially courting the other. They were proper people. Proper people courted; they didn't have illicit liaisons. If only Pierre knew how D'Artagnan got his wife, if only he knew.

   It wasn't until they walked to Place des Vosges that they decided to rest and as they sat down on the grass they both surreptitiously looked at each other; admiring the others beauty. They both weren't what people would consider to be sensual beauties; their features had too much innocence to them but they were what one would conside graceful, sweet, and comely. They just had the kind of charm that drew people in, that made other people want to be their friend or at least close to them. It was something that they both were grateful for. They would never wish to be objects of lust, they'd rather be welcoming angels instead though they would never use that exact term. They were far too humble for that kind of arrogance; nonetheless it was an apt description of the pair, one that would only increase when they were together.

   They simply brought out the best in each other and always will.

   “The weather today is truly wonderful today.” Elodie remarked feeling totally at peace, her lying on the grass doing her a world of good. Pierre couldn't help agree with that statement and the sight that was before him. Her expression was a gift, one that he would come to treasure, and loved that he, even though only partly, was the cause of it.

   He didn't match her words instead going for “I think you're wonderful.” She blushed at his honesty and he smiled, his words having the affect that he desired, “and I want to continue seeing your wonderful self.” His tone only slightly cheeky at the end to obfuscate the cliched nature of his albeit honest sentiment. Once again Elodie blushed and her eyes began to tear. Not once had a man been as good towards her as he was being and she adored it. She wanted more of it. She needed it. The sense of safety that accompanied those words was the kind that she had desperately craved ever since she had arrived in the city.

   Her voice shook in gratification, “I would like that very much.” Pierre's smile grew impossibly big then. She felt overjoyed at the sight. It was magnificent; well at least to her eyes it was. Her heart burst with excitement. She always wished to be courted by someone and now she had finally gotten her wish. A shot went through her body. She suddenly remembered that there was a war going on. She could see that Pierre had to for his grew darker. It was only when they both locked eyes that they resolved to not let the war destroy the both of them. The war may take their bodies but it didn't deserve their souls or their hearts. Their hearts were too gold for it. Their souls too silver. The war was bronze and always would be bronze in their eyes.

   They lied there talking for a while longer, though their while considerably longer than the usual while, before they set off back to her Madam's residence, back to her home. They still didn't touch until they reached the front door. For a while they nervously stood outside the premises neither wanting the other to go. It wasn't until she saw her Master, her Madame's strict husband, that she knew that their time was up. She wasn't told until later by her employers that he could've come inside; them both knowing how important this man was to her but she didn't want to push her luck.

   So Pierre did the only thing he could. He lifted her hand to his lips then afterwards said, “Until next time sweet lady.”

   She replied with only a, “Until next time;” before he was off feeling lighter than he had when he had left the garrison. It was nice.

   He was so engrossed in his thoughts of Elodie that he didn't notice returning to the garrison. To be fair the garrison hadn't either until he bumped into Jacques. The garrison watched him amusement at that; Pierre was usually much more alert than this and they were all wondering what caused him to be in such a dazed state. Jacques did also.

   “So why are you all of a sudden so inattentive?” Jacques asked, his arm crossed in a bold act of amusement.

   It was them Pierre noticed where he was but instead of blushing he decided to be defiant; he wouldn't be mocked, not today. “Why are you smiling? I was beginning to think you didn't even know how to smile.”

   Jacques was stunned at this sign of impertinence but quickly rallied, “I'll tell you if you tell me, deal?” Pierre nodded and they agreed to once again say their answer together after a count of three.

   “A woman.” They both said almost expecting each other to have the same answer. It was only after that they felt warm. They were truly getting to know the other and they couldn't help but feel protected and assured. But all the same they still laughed together. Perhaps they were more similar that they initially thought.

   What about the rest of the them. What had they been up to? Well they all had busy and unusually productive days determined to forget the events of the other night. Athos hadn't touched a single drop of wine. Porthos actually made an effort to be nice to the Red Guards for once. Aramis didn't even think about going to the palace and D'Artagnan spent an entire day continuously wooing and satisfying his wife; so much so that Constance had to be excused from her Majesty's side.

   Her Majesty was grateful for this because she couldn't help sense the strange tension between Constance and Isabelle and felt rather uneasy around the both of them and she needed Isabelle more. She needed Isabelle to learn the ways of the court as quickly as possible; to learn the rules, the players, the games so that she might be better protected. So that she might know for once the true threats against her. For her night with Aramis had pleased her as much as it did frighten her for Aramis had looked like a man possessed; a sight she wished never to see again.

   Isabelle was a model student for the entire day, so much so that the Queen couldn't help but feel impressed and slightly scared of Isabelle's ability to thrive in any social situation she happened to find herself in. However, the Queen was never to know that Isabelle was overcompensating for her perceived transgressions of the other night. Never to know that Isabelle felt she had to redeem herself over her action towards Athos; which was ridiculous but alas her father's lessons were still entrenched deep within her and it would take her a while before she could root them out for good.

   At the same time Milady was all the way over on the other side of the palace pouring over countless documents, letters, and plans like her life depended on it. Well it did but that was not the point.

   Tréville was with her trying as hard as he could not to imagine the kind of events that had inspired Milady so but failing when he had learned of Milady's presence in the garrison the other night later that afternoon. His head dropped at that and he struggled not to think of Athos' reaction at seeing her fetch Isabelle; for he was also told of Isabelle's new position in the garrison and couldn't help feeling himself growing older by the second. It became worse when Milady mentioned when he asked about Isabelle that she had declared in front of all the people that mattered that she considered Milady her friend. His head became lead at that point. He was too old, too tired for this kind of thing and yet he was getting more of the same; day after stupendous day. No wonder the Cardinal became paranoid; even he was starting to question everything about the people in his life too.

   This did not bode well.

   Milady knew what she was doing to Tréville but didn't have the heart to care. She already cared too much about one's Captain's thoughts and feelings; she didn't have time or the energy to worry about the former's too. Though every once in a while she saw a hint of the Cardinal in Tréville and couldn't help but shudder then immediately after feel sorry for the man. For there was one thing she knew for definite when it came to Tréville was that if there was ever a man who didn't deserve to become more like the Cardinal it was him. However he was and that was a tragedy all its own.

   She was a different story. She was the Cardinal's creature, she had no choice; or rather she had given herself no choice. But in the end that would make no difference. She was who she was and she had payed for it. Though this time around she was done paying for it. Now it was Athos' turn to pay for it. He deserved it after all. She had finally managed to believe herself when it came to this matter and this time she would see it through.

   She had no idea that one single object would decimate her plans though. Absolutely no idea. Absolutely no idea of one man's own plans to use it with every fiber he possessed. No idea; none at all.

   However she would stick with what she knew. Spying or more specifically the spies and informants that she knew in the city. She wasn't alone either for there was a stable, though not constant, stream of Durants coming to and fro from her and Tréville's conjoined offices. Their information much more comforting than that of their Havre based relative; and much more accurate and in line with what she'd expected.

   The Durants had managed to salvage the most important parts of the Cardinal's network but hadn't managed to put those fragmented pieces together in any way shape or form. So the extremely hard task of making them a part of a reliable and overly serviceable network obviously fell to her. Throughout that day and the next she found herself conjuring the ghost of the Cardinal more and more until it became a ever present force in the room. She didn't like it but it had to be done. She could only do so much on her own without her inner Cardinal keeping everything going as smoothly as it could.

   This didn't surprise Tréville in the least. He knew that the closer they got to having a person like the Cardinal involved in the war effort the greater the country's chances. For even though he admired Governor Feron greatly he was no Richelieu. He was just grateful that it wasn't him that had to become like his former adversary but he did at least feel some shame wishing that fate for Milady; for at least Richelieu had never truly wanted Tréville dead like he wanted Milady. He felt like he was betraying Milady somehow and if there was one thing he never liked doing was betraying someone's trust. Miraculously she did knowing full well what his actions had prevented her from having but it was trust nonetheless.

   The fates were growing stranger and crueler each passing day.

   Stranger still was the fact that the King had absolutely no idea any of this was going on at all. Even Feron had a better idea of recent events than he did but to be quite frank hadn't that always been the way. It was never the King that really ruled he was merely a placeholder, a figurehead at best; even Feron knew this. That didn't stop the jealousy of his legitimate brother's power of course but it did lessen the sting a bit.

   So it didn't shock him at all to find Milady the new spymaster, for he had inherited Rochefort's intelligence on the matter of Milady through one of his remaining stragglers. He also found her pleasant, easy, and most importantly good to work with. Her intelligence and wit visible in her expertly drawn up plans. The Cardinal had taught her well he couldn't help thinking; really well. Her hands seemed to just fly across paper, her mouth shooting relevant details out at a remarkable pace, her eyes shrewd like a hawk's at all times.

   She was in her element.

   If only Athos could see her, Tréville thought. If only he could see the marvel that was his wife. Then it was as if light flooded his head. Of course, he thought. They worked well together the last time why not this time. After the second day he instructed one his messengers to give Athos a message. One that he knew he couldn't deliver in person, he couldn't risk Athos assaulting him, he had the right to after all. He knew that lies always cut Athos more than he let on and even though he didn't want to admit it he had lied to him. Lied to him about Milady of all things.

   He didn't expect forgiveness for that insult. Not ever. But he did hope for understanding, he needed understanding.

   The next day was better for all concerned. The training at the garrison continued on as normal. The duties of the normal Musketeers weren't impeded in any way. The four “special” Musketeers continued their duties as normal. Constance went about her daily duties at the palace almost as if nothing had happened and Isabelle went about her day in a manner that she would come to associate as ordinary. It was almost too perfect which indeed it was but they weren't to know that until the next day save for one. The one person who was indeed the most vulnerable of them all at present.

   For on that second day Athos couldn't help but feel emotionally drained what with all the revelations and machinations as of late. He felt raw and exposed. He couldn't help but think that this is what Anne must have felt like the entire time she was in Paris for the second time. Her return might have been a surprise for all of them but he and his friends at least had each other but she had, to his endless shame, no one because of his previous actions against her.

   Her only salvation was the King but she had lost even that small comfort all because of their inability to stop Rochefort and his destructive ways. The same Rochefort who forced her to kill again just like the Cardinal had. To his surprise he felt a small hope for her in that regard. Maybe being spymaster could be the best thing for her. Maybe she didn't have to kill anymore.

   He had been more than stunned at that declaration. He thought she loved her life as an assassin but when she said that it's as if a firework exploded into his head. Of course she didn't like killing people, his minded whispered to him that day, he didn't. She may like the spying, her ability to find anything out about anyone but not the killing. He still couldn't get the smile she wore that glorious night in Rochefort's office out of his mind. Couldn't deny the look of sheer satisfaction that had planted itself on her face. Couldn't deny that he loved it despite his continuous assertions to himself that he didn't, he couldn't. Couldn't deny his lust over such a vulgar display of her wicked ways.

   He wanted as much as he didn't to see her wicked ways again. To feel that lust overwhelm him again. He wanted to stop feeling so sensible all the time. He was starting to feel constrained to common sense now that he was Captain and he was slowly coming tired of it. And loving her was the least sensible thing he could think of at this present moment. If only he knew how sensible it really was then he might have stayed away but as always his passion towards her overpowered his heart.

   There would come a day when that would stop though. One day his heart would overpower his lust for once. Or maybe ego was a better word for it. Either way his heart would win regardless.

   But for the moment Milady couldn't wait for Athos' mind to catch up with what his heart already knew and that was the heart of the problem. Open acknowledgment of the wrongs that both had committed against the other. Her lies. His disbelief.

   Their utter refusal to see the truth in front of them.

   The truth that without the other neither of them would ever see the end of this war.

   Again for the second time that week his evening was interrupted by a messenger. The other time being the night before Milady's rather obvious return to Paris. He let the poor boy in but didn't even bother to dismiss him which was a shame for it was the same boy who had gotten no thanks from Tréville the other day; not that he would ever know of course.

   The letter went unread for quite some time. He knew he was being petty but he didn't care. He was still bruised and cut from Tréville's earlier actions and not once had he come to apologize for his betrayal. He only contemplated reading it after his third cup of wine of the evening showing his obvious disdain for his former Captain. Let him wait, he thought rather ungraciously, let him wait though the words felt hollow after the inevitable guilt had started to creep in.

   It was only an hour after his third glass (now seventh) that he actually read the letter.

   _To Athos, Captain of the Musketeers,_

_I have decided that until such times when you are needed elsewhere that you, I and Milady should work together to ensure the quality of the new spy network in Paris. I order you to be at the palace tomorrow morning. Please don't make pull rank on you Athos. I need you by my side. You are the only person I can trust to be my adviser in this matter._

_I also apologize for not telling you about my decision to make Milady the new spymaster of France but I guess I knew you would never accept her taking such a position until not accepting it no longer became an option._

_Yours, Jean-Armand du Peyrer, Minister of War._

   Athos dropped his wine glass unaware of the splinters of glass all around him before dropping to his knees in despair. Tréville wanted him to work with Anne. He wanted him to work with his wife. The same wife he had lied to him about her employment. The same wife he had made sure that he wasn't on time for. The same wife he didn't want to see put in harm's way.

   God damn him. Athos thought, damn him to hell. He's asking for too much of him now.

   He would still go. For he never could disappoint Tréville but not without punching him straight in the jaw first.

   Unfortunately his friends had heard the shattering of the wine glass in his office and rushed in immediately. Devastated yet again at seeing their friend despondent in his office. What could've possibly gone wrong this time they couldn't help think. What could've possibly happened now of all times that could make Athos like this again.

   This time they would wait for him to acknowledge their presence in the room. Which was good for him but also good for them too for they had time to mentally and emotionally prepare for what was bound to be another explosive piece of news.

   However the revelation of their being present was taking abnormally longer than usual and soon they became impatient. Well the majority of them were; Porthos again being the team player that he was stood apart from them in complete silent peace. Something that he was going to lose any second now. Something that he knew his friends would regret not doing as soon as Athos' latest news was out but he would keep that to himself. There was nothing to gain by rocking the boat more that it already had.

   At last Athos became dimly aware of them. His awareness only growing the more he turned towards the door. The silence continued to last however until he registered that he should speak about what led up to his current predicament.

   Finally he spoke, “Tréville has ordered me to be his adviser. In short he wants me to work with Milady.” His voice disturbingly disparate.

   Oh for the love of God Tréville. For the love of the almighty God.

   Ironic for the only thing that could save them now was the love of the almighty God himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

   Athos crashed awake. His head splitting and his mind whizzing. He forced himself to breathe slowly. If he was ever going to survive the day intact he would have to maintain his composure; or least pretend to. He reached out for his usual glass of wine of the morning but stopped before he grabbed it. No, he thought, he would have to be at least partially sober to do this job. Any matter regarding intricate politics always required more of him than the usual and he wouldn't be able to give more with half his head swimming in drink.

   However he did down that one glass so fast it looked like he was a snake for moment. He did have his limits after all.

   His friend came to see him off. They knew that he would need their comforting presence if only for a moment. They prayed for his soul and his mood knowing that this would either be the straw that broke the camel's back completely or the start of their friend's healing. They hoped with all their hearts that it would be the latter.

   He kicked his horse forward without so much as a goodbye. He didn't have the ability to; his mind too preoccupied in preparation for what was, he predicted, to be a very challenging day.

   He was glad that it was only he and Tréville in his former Captain's office when he first entered into it. It gave him the necessary time and place to punch the Minister for all that he was worth just like he had vowed to do the other night.

   Tréville knew that he had deserved it so he said nothing but, “I won't say that I'm glad that you got that out of your system but I'm glad you've gotten it over and done with.” Athos just nodded knowing full well that he would feel guilty later on in the day. He didn't have much time to think on his rather rash behavior before Milady sauntered into the office like she owned it. It was only when she saw Athos that her manner changed. She froze and craned her head to look at the Minister.

   “Tréville what is the meaning of this?” Her voice was significantly higher and more strained than usual. Her eyes more panicked and crazed.

   “I've decided that Athos should work alongside me to help build the new spy network, my adviser if you will.” He said plainly trying as hard as he could to mask his apprehension for he hadn't had the chance to tell Milady of his plans before she retired to her own quarters outwith the palace.

   Milady's harsh gasp was very telling and it pained Athos to hear it. Eyes were flying around the room trying to find any way out of the situation and when they'd found none rested on Athos. She looked into his eyes; her own being remarkably hard to read yet again before she made the tiniest affirmation of consent.

   It took her a long while after that to relax into her work. It was only after the Durant arrived an hour later that she found she could really get into the right frame of mind. Though it only happened after Athos started addressing Tréville primarily instead of constantly reminding her of his presence. Only after he stopped acting like her ghost.

   But for him, for him she was slowly starting to become everything. He couldn't help seeing similarities between Anne and Milady especially once she relaxed enough to transform into the spymaster that she always had in her; the fact that she only changed after he stopped talking to her directly was something he didn't want to deal with. What he also didn't want to deal with was the fact that she held the exact same face she had when she pressed the flower that used to be in his locket. He instinctively went to grab a hold of it before remembering his rather hasty decision to drop it in a random street somewhere. So he did the best he could with holding his pauldrons and as if they were sentient they seared his hands; it was either that or acknowledge the sting of potential tears in his eyes. He didn't.

   It was truly a sight to behold. Her eyes were alight and keen, her hands fast but precise, her words intelligent and courteous but above all her smile; her smile was golden. It was so bright that Athos had to look away a couple of times; feeling that he didn't quite deserve to see her in such a state of grace. But he was and he would be damned if he didn't make the most of it. He was drinking the sight of her in knowing full well that she was better than any glass of wine that he could have. He shivered in delight over the memory of her taste; which had always been inviting. His gaze upon her was powerful and Milady couldn't help notice.

   It was the same version of the stare he had given her in Rochefort's office without none of the baggage of their mission within its depths; it was also a lot more powerful. So powerful that she had to relent quite a number of times to not let it affect her. But who was she kidding, it definitely was and it was taking every ounce of self discipline she had not to kiss him right there and then. It was just that his eyes held so much promise, promise which she hadn't seen in them for a very long time. Enough of that, he still abandoned her so instead of acquiescing to his sudden lust like she had done in that office she plowed her way though her, very important, work.

   And there was Tréville feeling absolutely mortified about the amount of lust he was witnessing being directed from both parties towards the other. Christ out of all the Musketeers he knew he thought that Athos was the only one whose eyes couldn't get that way but clearly he was wrong.

   Tréville hadn't felt so much sexual tension in a room in his life before and he had been party to Aramis being in a room completely covered with all too willing women before.

   The memory still disturbed him to this day.

   To get back to the matter at hand. It seemed as if everything was going; well as smoothly as could be expected. Every couple of minutes they would come up to a snag but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little concentrated burst of will power and strategy. It wasn't until late afternoon that they hit their first big tear in their plans.

   It was in the form of a traveling noblemen who would be staying in Marais for a cousin's wedding it looked like. It was a noblemen that surprisingly Athos knew for he had been a friend of his late father's. He spelled trouble because like Ninon he was fabulously wealthy and his funds would help tremendously in the war effort, the only problem being is that he had little patience for war; he thought the entire institution was a waste. A waste of time and waste of money. Both things he valued too much and too equally. It was then that Athos knew that he to get more directly involved no matter how he wished not to.

   “I've got a solution.” Everyone; everyone was stunned at that. “This man was a friend of my father's and he's still under the impression that Le Comte de La Fère is still performing his ancestral duties for he has been in Italy until now it seems. If we could get word out that the Comte is in Paris and was contactable through the Durant family then I may be able to attend at least one of the events of his cousin's wedding. Granted only if said cousin doesn't know that I have abandoned Pinon.” They had to give him credit; that was a solid and excellent plan. Milady couldn't help but feel impressed.

   “He also still believes me to be married so even if I were to be invited Milady would have to come as well.” Athos at least had the decency to look apologetic at that but there was also something hot about his eyes. A night alone with Athos pretending to be happily married to him. A night pretending to be the happy couple they used to be and it couldn't have come at a worse time she cursed. Her eyes watered with indignation and anger. How dare he bring her into this. How dare he fling her right back into his life as if it were nothing but his eyes told a different story. He knew that this was not nothing, if only he could actually say it.

   The rest of them were waiting for his answer. When she realized that they were all waiting for her she blushed for the first time that day and answered. “Very well. Let's see to the preparations immediately.”

   It didn't shock either her or him to find the answer waiting for them after dinner. After all the noblemen was staying in Marais like the rest of them. They were only invited to the evening event before the wedding itself but it did give Athos enough time to woo his father's friend, especially if he were to slip in the fact that he would be fighting on the front lines. He knew that said family friend would do anything to save him because if there was anything that he and Athos had in common was the they valued friendship above all else. He only hoped that the money he would give for such an endeavor would be satisfactory.

   It was the day of the event that terrified them. It was the next evening. It took all they had not to say that they weren't going; it was too soon for either of their liking. Of course it was the next evening he always was frustratingly efficient with his time. Anne was petrified. She would have to be Anne for all of the next day if this facade was going to work.

   It was at Tréville's next recommendation that she nearly screamed. “It would also be prudent to have the Musketeers standing by if anything were to get out of hand.” he said, his gaze pointed towards Athos. Athos couldn't help but agree but for the love of god wished he didn't. He had barely seen Anne at all these past couple of years but to have the Musketeers see her in all her glory. It was too much.

   Milady head was frighteningly getting more dizzy by the second. She couldn't be, she wouldn't be Anne in front of the Musketeers but she had to for the sake of her job and bloody France; she didn't know what was more ironic that or the fact that she became Milady to help France but now had to be Anne to save it.

   Their eyes locked again and this time their eyes looked the exact same. Even though they only held one emotion it was the same emotion nonetheless; sheer trepidation for what they were about to do the following day.

   Milady swallowed, “I think it's best if we prepare in the garrison. It would look too suspicious if we are seen coming out of the palace but not the Musketeers garrison especially if we are going with the story of you being a recent enlistee in the army.” Athos couldn't deny the logic in that statement so he said nothing and thankfully Milady took his silent as consent.

   Tomorrow was going to be one long and hard day.

   As their business concluded Isabelle popped in to see her family after gaining permission from the Queen of course but also to see Milady. Though upon entering the room found herself slap right in front of Athos who she then tried her hardest not to acknowledge and ignore until he left the room. As she began chatting to Milady about how her day went and complaining to her about the ridiculousness of court life she couldn't help but feel her family's gaze baring down on her. It stayed that way until Milady dismissed her stating that she had to rest; understandable considering the person she had to spend all day with.

   It was only after her family and herself left the office that her family spoke it her but not without grabbing her arm roughly, “You would do well to remember our family's philosophy dear cousin. Don't trust anyone apart from family. Understood?” She only nodded. Ah yes the family philosophy that had ensured their stability over the past couple of centuries.

   Her breath staggered at that. Her eyes began to water and she slumped next the nearest wall. Don't trust anyone. It was the first rule that a Durant learns as they grow up; not from practical experience mind but out of sheer indoctrination. But how could she after all that she'd suffered. After her biggest betrayal had come from family, her father of all people.

   Ever since then she had started to wonder. Would it be, would it be so bad to want to trust other people apart from family. For them to trust her in return. For she was sick and tired of having friends she couldn't rust, friends she couldn't rely on; that she couldn't truly love. For what was love without trust; a shadow and nothing more.

   What was so wrong about having someone love someone who didn't feel obligated to love that person. Family was obligation to her. It's what her father felt obligated to feign. Though she ultimately was no better.

   It turned out that she knew all along.

   She found out the day after she killed her father. She starkly remembered. The accusations, the shrieked questions. “Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you say that our father didn't love us?” Their answer; they thought she knew and when she answered how could she have possibly known their faces dropped. Cursing god for her not remembering her childhood and when she still felt left in the dark they told her.

   Before their mother died she had all told them, apart from her for she was too young, that their father was a heartless man; but a man who was an excellent actor. And when they all questioned why they had never seen it coming their mother said that one of them did but probably couldn't remember.

   They told her of a story of her coming up to her mother when she was five saying, “Daddy doesn't love us does he?” in a sad defeated voice and it was if her whole broken childhood reared its ugly head.

   The days she spent telling herself over and over again that in fact her father did love her. That he truly did until she became the lie itself whilst simultaneously doing, saying, learning all she could to make her father love her. To show that she was worthy of his love. That she was good enough.

   But she wasn't, she just wasn't.

   All the things she was. Intelligent, good at etiquette, good at political and social games, hunting, fighting, sewing, reading, painting. All that she had learned to please her father and she wasn't what truly mattered. She wasn't fruitful and yet she still was being, doing all those things a year later. That caricature of her true self. If that was even her true self anymore.

   She spent all her time dedicating herself to pleasing one person that she didn't know what really pleased her. What kind of person that she needed to be to please her. She was oh so muddled about the whole thing. All she knew was that she liked the idea of protecting the Queen and Porthos really. That's all she knew. That and more thing; that she wanted to be loved, truly loved; for who she was and considering she didn't even know who she was or if that person was even a good person she felt hopeless. She honestly felt that she didn't deserve to be loved. Thank goodness that the two people who truly mattered, the Queen and Porthos, thought otherwise and would make her see it. Even if it was the last thing they did.

   Milady would to and out of all the people involved she would be the greatest unexpected hero who would come out of the whole thing. Milady would come to be the greatest friend she could ever had made in her whole entire life but it was still early days.

   It was also early days for one other women too. Constance yet again for the third time was sick around her Majesty's presence. It always came as if right on schedule in the evening and she didn't know what it was. Her Majesty had a feeling what it was though, had a feeling for a while hence the reason she tasked Isabelle to look after the garrison in Constance's stead for she believed it wouldn't be long until Constance was too incapacitated to.

   Constance vomited again, “That's it I've had enough. I want a physician now.” She had been reluctant to send for one her heart still sore over Lemay's death but she about to reaching her breaking point. She just had to know what on earth was happening inside her body to make her be like this.

   The Queen smiled, at last. She couldn't wait to see her dear friend's reaction. So she waited in anticipation. Her smile only getting broader when the Doctor came in.

   As the Doctor looked her over Constance she couldn't help feel uncomfortable. If it were Lemay she wouldn't be but alas she had to make do. He certainly wasn't helping any by smiling the whole way through his examinations having briefly been told about her symptoms beforehand.

   It certainly didn't help either that straight after his examination he gave a short shout of triumph. She was absolutely confounded when her Majesty's echoed him. “Would someone tell me the reason why you're all so excited.”

   The doctor looked at her then as if she had just suddenly sprouted wings, “Isn't it obvious?” She vehemently shook her head. “You're pregnant.”

   Pregnant.

   After all that time trying, after all these years she was pregnant. She was about to become a mother with D'Artagnan of all people. She could scarce believe it but when she looked at her Queen it slowly settled into her mind. All of a sudden she was laughing, crying, and smiling and found herself hugging the Queen who was returning her actions with the exact same vigor.

   “Go home. Tell your husband. I'll have Isabelle watch over me tonight.” And as if by magic Isabelle appeared.

   “What's with all the commotion. I heard it all the way at the other end of the corridor?” Isabelle asked stunned with only a veiled look of amusement twinkling in her eyes.

   “I'm pregnant.” said Constance her jubilation over the news so very present in the tone of her voice. Isabelle couldn't help but feel over joyed for her. If there was one person who deserved to be with child more in the room it would be Constance.

   And with that Constance rushed out of the room. Hurrying to get back to the garrison; to tell her husband the wonderful news.

   It was only Isabelle and the Queen left in the room now. And if the Queen weren't paying attention to Isabelle in that moment she would've missed it, the phantom in her eyes. She knew that look. Knew that look all too well before she had her son. She'd forgotten.

   “Isabelle...” she started but Isabelle looked at her, her eyes willing her Majesty not to continue her sentence. She didn't deserve such pity or sympathy. This was Constance's moment after. So instead Isabelle picked up and raised her glass of wine,

   “To Constance, her husband, and their new child.” The queen copied her actions.

   “To Constance.” She replied seeming as if she had dropped the subject; she had but only for the moment. She wasn't going to give up on Isabelle that easily. She just had a feeling that Isabelle wasn't the confident woman she portrayed herself to be. It was the way she had said that it was better that she had lived instead of her father; the statement had seemed a little too hollow for her liking. It seemed as if Isabelle didn't quite believe herself and that had upset her. She was a beautiful woman inside and out; she could see it. Even after hearing her story she still believed that she was a beautiful woman. She was more beautiful than her at any rate.

   One cannot call oneself truly beautiful after committing treason.

   Getting back to matter at hand; Constance. She had just arrived back at the garrison, faster that she thought she would. When she finally spotted her husband she did the first thing that popped into her head which was go right up to her husband and kissing him; right in front of everyone, in the middle of the courtyard for all to see and for once she didn't care.

   “What was that for?” Her husband asked, glad for the affection but confused as to what he did to merit such spontaneous passion.

   Everyone was looking at them now, intrigued over Constance's unusual display of affection. Especially Athos, Aramis, and Porthos who were right next to him before she unceremoniously tugged his lips down to hers.

   “I'm pregnant D'Artagnan. I'm pregnant.” Her smile catching his and changing it to suit hers. No one could scarce believe it. To have such a wonderful thing happen during times like these but that didn't matter. All that mattered was her and him. The two new potential parents.

   He couldn't believe it himself. “Really?” he asked. His heart barely wanting to entertain the idea that this wasn't true.

   “Really. You're going to be a father D'Artagnan.” At that he picked her up and spun her round in sheer glee.

   The entire courtyard erupted at that. They all had a soft spot for D'Artagnan and Constance. Then there were the three. The three men responsible for making him the Musketeer that he was and they couldn't be more thrilled or more proud for him. Their brother was going to be a father and a good one at that. It took a while for the celebrations to die down and it was only then did they see who else had turned up right after Constance did but were too distracted to notice. It was Tréville who had turned up to talk to Athos and the rest about the mission tomorrow. The same man who was standing stock still with, for what was the first time to most of the men, tears in this eyes. And all he did was walk up to the man he grown to consider a son and pull him into an embrace that only a father could give.

   One which D'Artagnan returned with all the strength and love he had. He missed Tréville's presence in the garrison but most of all he missed his constant presence in his life and he was making up for lost time. So all he did was close his eyes and smile. They were the very picture of father and son.

   It was only after that embrace that Athos, Aramis, and Porthos got their shot in. D'Artagnan soon lost count of all the hugs, slaps to the back, and hand shakes he was receiving but that didn't mean he appreciated them any less. He was just so happy.

   It was only when Athos gestured to his office that the congratulations stopped completely. They all sighed, back to work.

   They were all told of the plan and couldn't help but feel cheated. It took hours of concentrated effort to get Athos to even feign to be the noble he was in Pinon but now all of sudden because it was Milady who needed him to be Le Comte de la Fère it seemed like he was yearning to become the noble he used to be. If only they knew that it wasn't the noble that Athos was yearning to be again but Olivier. The man who knew only of Anne and not of Milady. And it was Anne he truly yearned for.

   He couldn't admit that he yearned for Milady. Not yet. But he would given enough time and he had plenty.

   It wasn't until the next day that he only slightly acknowledged that he may have lied to himself about the whole Milady versus Anne business because when she walked into garrison wearing the blackest cloak that he'd ever seen his heart jolted. And when she looked at him his world seemed to stop.

   She gestured to his office. Right, of course; right down to business. So there she found herself again, for the second time in a week, in Athos' office.

   It was clean; that surprised her. What didn't were the books on his shelf and the wine on one of the side tables. So he still drinks like a fish; at least that was one thing she could count on no matter how much she despised it. He was a mean drunk after all. She knew that more than most. They briefly talked about how they were going to act before they moved on to the way that they'd dress. They had to look the part after all. Hence the reason she came so early.

   It was then she learned that Aramis was tasked with that particular side show. Good he always was remarkably well dressed; it was almost a miracle considering his occupation at least from her perspective.

   It was after that revelation that she undid her coat for unlike Athos she knew exactly what to wear. She had gotten it just the other day for such occasions as this. It was white and although a little on the plainer side in styling was made of some of the finest material around. Kind of like the dresses she used to wear as a Comtesse but grander. It had to be. She had to be La Comtesse de la Fère after all and had to look the part.

   When Athos saw her dress his insides lurched. He couldn't ignore the similarities of the dress she was wearing and the ones she had worn in Pinon. It was like he was looking at Anne again. He wasn't, her face was still Milady but even then he saw glimmers of Anne in her smile, her eyes, her nose; little pin pricks of hope that Anne could still be salvaged from the wreck that was Milady. Not knowing of course that Anne would always come with Milady. That Milady was not the villain he had needed her to be. Well used to need her to be.

   It was only Aramis, Athos,and Milady in the room after that. The rest of them knowing what would be discussed from then on would be boring fashion tips. Aramis seemed to be inspired and wasted no time in hurrying to his favourite merchant.

   It was then that the real work began. It was then that Athos and Milady started to truly discuss the main goal of the mission. To convince this friend that they were still Olivier and Anne (for unfortunately this friend had met her) but with the other added complexity thrown into the mix; the fake enlistment and figuring out how Olivier and Anne would react to the war and act in it. It was difficult to say the least for they kept having to delve into places that they'd hadn't seen in themselves for years or had forgotten entirely were there. It took all their will power not to truly look into the others eyes for they knew the second they did the mission would be over before it began; both having not started the mental preparations for it yet.

   They thanked the heavens for allowing them the time to finish this crucial step before Aramis barged in forcefully urging Athos to get ready. Only leaving the room once Athos had stood up from his chair. Taking off his gloves as he went to his new room; well new to her. In doing so she saw something drop on the floor and when she went to alert Athos of the fact he had already gone.

   Curious as to what he would store in his gloves she went over to look at the objects. She immediately recognized them of course.

   They were her gloves. The exact pair that she'd left at the crossroads. So he had come. He had come to be with her. Her heart trembled; hope soaring and love pouring out. Soon she found herself silently crying though not from pain but something else entirely; but what she didn't know. It wasn't out of happiness, it was something far more and far different than that; promise maybe.

   “Now where did I put those scissors,” a voice said startling her; she blinked for moment to find that Athos was in the room rummaging around trying to find his scissors; for his hair of course. It wasn't until he found them that he stopped to look at Milady again.

   He saw the tears but his voice died in his throat as soon as he followed her line of sight. She was holding a pair of gloves and not just any pair. The pair, the pair he had spent many a night agonizing over and they were right in her hands again. Her eyes then flicked towards his pauldrons and her gloves. Her expression quickly becoming undecipherable but he just knew what she was thinking and if right on time she said.

   “You came,” Her voice choked and tumultuous as if unable to carry the weight of the words she really wanted to say.

   “I came.” Was all he said in return feeling as if there nothing more to be said. There was.

   “You were late.” As if that made any difference now. As if that made up for the fact that she still left France.

   “I know. I'm sorry.” That was hard. It was the first apology that he had made to her since becoming Athos and he had a hunch that it wouldn't be last. He had a feeling that she wouldn't allow it to be. The proverbial floodgates had been opened as it were. “You left early.”

   “I know,” was all she said in return her mind still catching on his use of the word sorry. She couldn't quite believe it; he had actually apologized to her. She felt her tears renew but as quickly as the flood gates had been opened they were quickly snapped shut for it still wasn't the apology she was looking for, it wasn't the one that she needed.

   In the back of his mind he knew that but his mind was too preoccupied to even care at this point.

   It was only when he heard Aramis call for him that his attention on Milady broke. He floundered for little not knowing quite what to say or do. It was only after Aramis shouted for him again that he left; leaving a muddled Milady behind.

   It wasn't until he came back a couple hours later fresh. His face trimmed, his hair cut and his body washed and with soap to that she nearly broke. He looked for the first time in years like Olivier, her Olivier. His clothes perfectly matched hers. They were elegant, refined, and had this air of grace to them. Her heart was screaming at this point. Be close to him, touch him; for the love of god Anne don't just stand there do something, anything but languish but she was. She just stood there trying not to explode. To make matters worse everyone had returned to the office even Constance.

   They don't deserve to see this, Milady thought, they don't deserve to see us like this. For once Athos was thinking the exact same thing. He had tried his hardest not to ever act or be Olivier around them but now he was. He had to be and he was angry. For the only person who deserved to see Olivier was Anne and Anne hadn't fully returned yet. At least not in his minds eye.

   Unbeknownst to them the rest of the room were starting to share in the sentiment. They all had such a burning desire to see Olivier but now that they had they felt that they were intruding in on a deeply private matter. It wasn't hard to see the looks passing between Milady and Athos nor the way they were holding themselves and they all felt uncomfortable so much so that they left as fast as they came.

   Good, thought both Athos and Milady, good riddance. For it wasn't Olivier that was friends with them nor was it Anne that had come to know them and right now they were distinctly Anne and Olivier. Which was more than they wished to be.

   Before they knew (and wanted) it, it was time to go.

   To Athos complete but Milady's incomplete surprise the Durants were already there. Well the Durants invited to the event.

   They only had time to breathe for a few moments before the man himself Le Duke du Valois greeted them. “Ah there you are and right on time.” He said whilst shaking Athos' hand but kissing Anne's. “This is Le Comte and La Comtesse la Fère, please make them feel welcome.” And they did. People that Athos only briefly remembered coming up to him like they were family. People that Milady never wanted to meet again were acting as if she was an old friend of theirs.

   This was all so fake, they thought, whilst wearing the exact same fake smile. At least their falseness was for a greater purpose. And well the rest theirs was just insufferable. Though they'd never let them know that. They would make with the pleasantries, pay their respects, and give out their compliments about everything from the (happy) couple down to the lovely food whilst making out that they were having just the most splendid time.

   It was after the third dance of the evening that Athos was finally whisked away by the Duke to talk business. And quite frankly Milady was thankful for the reprieve. She was barely holding it together. She wasn't used to having to be Anne for this length of time and her soul was suffering for it. Each scar she thought had sealed over the past seven years had been ripped open, every bruise healed showing up on her skin and every burn cooled burning her blood once again. She couldn't take anymore of this but she had to for the sake of France.

   Oh god; She was starting to sound like the Cardinal. First the Cardinal's creature now the man himself, she really was going up in the world.

   Athos wasn't faring much better. Every single time he looked at Milady it felt like he was looking at a great fire. He couldn't look away but his eyes kept stinging from the increasing contrasts and rapid transitions between her and Anne. He had to soldier on though; for the sake of France. That was the rallying cry of the evening, their saving grace. But by God his resentment for the country was growing every tortured second he had to spend pretending to be the man he lost the day he hung his still very much alive wife; no thanks to him.

   That was the first step if anyone was counting. He certainly wouldn't.

   It took longer than he wanted to admit but he finally managed to make a deal with the Duke. It was only when Athos mentioned his wife's connection to the Durants that the Duke took him seriously. It seemed like the Durant family were pretty connected throughout the whole of France. He couldn't help wonder why it had taken them this long to spring into action.

   If only he knew that the only reason was that it was hard to care for the people when they actively encourage mistrust within their ranks.

   He would find out thanks to Isabelle eventually. That day wasn't pleasant.

   But before he could properly rejoin Milady he spotted a familiar face and it couldn't have been a worse face for him to see. It was clear he had just arrived but he was a face that he didn't and wouldn't have known to account for but he was there all the same. It was Baron Renard. Looking as cruel and vain as ever. He had hoped that the death of his son would make the man see some sense but he now saw how foolish that hope was.

   Quickly as possible he found Milady and relayed his recent news. She wasn't pleased. She had of course heard the whole thing from Jeanne the last time they met right outside Pinon when she was trying to find out where Catherine had gone. At least she still tried to help them instead of outright abandoning them like Athos had. It's was where all her spare money went. She felt like she had to. Jeanne was the first friend she ever made and she made a promise to protect her. She had felt so guilty when she couldn't when she was stuck with that gang and when she heard what the Baron and his men had wanted to do to her it made her sick to her stomach.

   When she heard that her father had been made mayor well she almost cried. The people of Pinon were finally safe.

   She kept this to herself. He would find out eventually but not tonight. Not while they were hurting from the specter of their mutual past.

   Thankfully they managed to avoid him for rest of the most important part of the evening. And vowed to slip away the moment their absence would be expected. They couldn't even risk leaving when their absence would no longer be an insult. They had to stay in the Duke's good graces. They had to even if it meant putting the mission in greater and greater risk by increasing the chances of the being caught by the Baron.

   But even with the danger, the superficiality and the lies they still tried to make the most of the evening. They danced, they drank, they ate and even managed to have a light-hearted conversation for once. What they didn't do was laugh. Not in private and not even to the other party goers. They weren't ready for that yet. They still had too many walls up. Too many barriers.

   They wanted to. They wanted to of course.

   Both agreeing that their favourite sound in the world was the hearing the other person laugh.

   And it had been too long since they both laughed.

   It wasn't until they were walking out of the building that they saw the real reason that they hadn't seen the Baron at all, he was drunk. More specifically drunk with what looked to be the other nobles who were invited out of sheer courtesy but were far too low rent to enjoy such a magnificently lavish event. The kind of nobles whose tastes were far too simplistic that even the common people had far more complex tastes than them.

   They found him to their relief to be too preoccupied to notice them but just in case they hastened their exit, not slow enough to warrant being caught and not too fast as to warrant even more suspicion. They had felt a little too much over the course of the night but thankfully the suspicion lessened over the evening. But still they didn't want to rock the boat more than it already had been.

   It wasn't until they had come out of Marais that the real trouble had started for just as they were about to truly leave the Duke cousin's residence the Baron caught a glimpse of them. He thought he was going mad at first, the last time he had seen that traitorous Athos he looked so unbearably disheveled. Unfortunately he had recognized Milady, well Anne to be precise and knew that it was indeed that oaf of a man.

   He could spot the former Comtesse anywhere. He and Thomas both agreed that she were the kind of woman that they would do almost anything to get their hands on and tonight was no exception. Especially after, in his mind, Athos had done so much to make himself unworthy of her hand. It was after all only Athos who wanted to give up his god given title and Anne hadn't even been present to agree with her husband; leaving no doubt in his mind that she still had retained hers. Like the good noblewoman that he had always seen her as.

   It was time for her to be married to a proper gentlemen, he thought, his blood becoming rather alarming primal.

   So naturally he followed them to a more welcoming setting. He had enough sense not to ruin the evening for the happily engaged couple, well not yet. He would though; he had to tell them of the scorpion they'd just invited into their midst.

   “Athos,” he shouted when the had reached the square containing the Church of Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie. Athos spun round his heart sinking whilst Milady kept her back to her husbands. It seemed as if the Baron had almost planned this ambush because at that his men showed up as if out of nowhere and were beginning to encircle them, “I have you surrounded and this time you're little friends aren't here to save you.”Athos lips upturned a little. “So you might as well give up. I'll even be merciful to you this time around though it's far more that what you deserve, cretin.”

   Milady snarled and at once they sprung into action. Mine, Milady thought, Athos' life is mine to have; cockroaches all of them.

   Athos speedily had disarmed two of the men right of the bat; he wasn't the best swordsman in the whole Musketeer regiment for nothing. Milady couldn't help admire his graceful form, it was like he was dancing on water, but she had a sneaking suspicion that there would more times to come for her to appreciate his swordsmanship so she got back to the matter at hand. She then immediately went back to dispatching her own opponent.

   An animal, Athos thought, she fights like an animal and he couldn't help thinking that it was one of the most attractive display he'd ever seen. She wasn't even close to acting honourably, there wasn't even a hint of chivalry in her fighting but despite the odds a fire roared in his gut at the sight. His father would be turning in his grave for sure. He didn't care only stopping because he had his own man to focus on.

   The Baron could barely believe his eyes. Was that Anne? the Comtesse de la Fère fighting his men, No that couldn't possibly be. But it was and yet it wasn't. It was an Anne the likes of which he hadn't seen before and his heart boiled over. Women should never fight, ever. They were made for two things and two things only. Fucking and having children and she wasn't doing ether of those things and before he knew what he was doing his own sword was out.

   Athos was too distracted with his own fighting to see it but all he heard for a couple of minutes was the striking of metal against metal, the grunts of a man far too old to be fighting against the silence of a woman who had fought far too much but who was adept at it. Then he heard nothing but one long slice into flesh and a final strangled gasp then nothing. He took the necessary moments to finish off his last opponent before turning round to see the carnage that had been his own wife fighting against the Baron that he should've fought and not her; not Anne. It shouldn't have been Anne.

   And yet it was but what was more distressing for him was her dress. The sight of her dress. Where it once was pristine white it was now red where the stain of blood would always remain. It was viscerally damaging to him.

  He staggered back, like the past had hit him. His mind started to change. Where her dress had been white, in his minds eye, in that damn room in his old house the dress was stained very much in the manner that it was now. Her dress stained with his brother's blood, how could he have forgotten that; how could he have glossed over that- changed that.

   He was once again seeing Anne covered in his brother's (The Baron's) blood but instead of sentencing her to death this time around he did the only thing he could.

   He kissed her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

   She hesitated; she thought for a moment he would try to kill her again, his eyes looking akin to when he had first seen his dead brother's body on the floor with her holding that blood stained knife (his brother's blood) and seeing her blood stained dress with that exact same blood. Though there was something more to them also, there seemed to a sharp note of remembrance and revelation. Like a light had been lit from within him. Blazing but all wrong though it was if he didn't care, didn't notice from the way he was kissing her.

   That hesitation cost her though. It allowed him just enough time to work his tongue down her throat wherein she might have saved herself. The moment she could've disentangled herself from him. But now she couldn't; the kiss too fervent, too hot, too demanding. She could never deny her hunger for his touch and now she was dossed in it. All she felt apart from him was her back suddenly hitting the churches wall and then all too soon nothing else.

   Athos harked back to the last time they'd done this, the night right after being stuck with her in that blasted cabinet. He remembered the labours of her skirts and the fumbling of his buttons but then the sweet triumph of her sex being pressed onto his hand like it had never left. How much it had, she had wanted him, it had been so long yet she roared into him then and she was burning for him now.

   Unfortunately he paused long enough to open his eyes again; to see her dress again and his mind buckled under the strain.

   The damn was just about to break.

   It was until he moved his head to her neck. Allowing him to hear her whining, the moans she'd so desperately wanted to make; her cries for more. More friction,more pressure, more traction. Harder, faster please just move those hands. That he finally took things into his own hands. He almost broke his breeches open trying to get at his straining cock and then after harnessing all his passion thrust himself into her awaiting cunt.

   The thrust connecting just as the first leak turned into the first torrent of water. Her white dress covered in his brother's blood was the first.

   The second was her blood stained hands.

   Thrust, the blood staining the uniforms of his servants. Thrust, the sight of his brother's blood on the floor. Thrust, her white dress turning red again though this time underneath that tree. Thrust, it was the same dress from that day still stained with Thomas' blood. Thrust, flakes of Thomas's blood coming off her hands and floating to the ground. Thrust, the forget-me-nots being covered in those same flakes. Thrust, her hair wild and unkempt. Thrust, that blotch of red starting to fall to the ground.

   Thrust, the thought of his brother fucking his wife. Her screams different from the ones she was producing now.

   Thrust, the thought of him making love to Milady like he had Anne. At that he shuddered into his own release. It was only when he came out of his own that that he saw Milady or Anne or whoever she was nowadays shaking in anticipation, her release not yet come. So he did the only thing he had not done in that night, bar the shameful exercise of remembrance he had just done. And finally got on his knees, besides a church no less, and finished what he had started.

   He licked his lips, her smell beckoning him onwards begging him to taste her again to; to have her again in the only way that only he was allowed. He savoured the first drop. The crash of memories of other times he'd done this overwhelming his already fragile mind; breaking it in the process until all he had left was the primal animal inside. And that animal was starving.

   His mouth lunged towards her clit in an act so merciless her adjoining moan was ludicrously obscene. The ones following thereafter thankfully being less so. There was only so much blasphemy one could do before calling it a night after all.

   He couldn't get enough however. He just kept soaking up her sweet flavour even after he had more than fulfilled his end of the bargain. It was only when Milady had enough sense to tug on his hair that he resurfaced his hair mussed and his face wet. He then in the awkward silence that ensued doing the only thing he could and wiped his face just to seem polite.

   The silence gaped significantly after that and Milady was peeved. This wasn't at all how she thought the night was going to end. Her dress was now unusable after all the pretty pennies she'd spent on it and her artfully styled hair lay in ruins. But she couldn't in her right mind say that the mess wasn't worth it not after that performance. And what a performance it was. It wasn't like the last time. That time had been too rough, too fast, and too darn selfish for her liking. Although this time had been rough she could hardly call it selfish not when he had the audacity to kiss her again she could taste herself on his tongue.

   It would hardly be the first time such an occurrence had happened.

   It was only when they were walking to the garrison for they also had to debrief there that she ventured to talk again but found that as soon as she did she had nothing, that all her words had left her. It was all up to him to break the silence.

   “I'm sorry for your dress.” Was all that he would end up saying.

   “You're what?” she asked, this was not where she was expecting the conversation to go at all.

   “I said I'm sorry for your dress. I'll buy you a similar one if that will please you.” He qualified his expression looking as if, not for the first time, it was dancing around the real heart of the matter.

   “Yes. Yes it would please me.” Athos smiled at that and a ghost of one followed suit. Her heart ached a little at that smile. It was similar to ones that Olivier wore, she wouldn't dare to think that they were both in fact the same. That was too much promise even to her. Not if she wanted to get out of this new partnership with Athos alive.

   She couldn't believe that Olivier could come back. She couldn't. She thought he could once and had been burned by it.

   The glove though. She couldn't forget about the glove. The glove that changed everything about the aftermath of that day. He came and he had kept it.

   He came and he had kept it.

   Her spirit a phoenix again.

   It was only when she returned to the garrison that she knew that Athos' change in his dealings with her wasn't going to be a passing fancy of mercy because for the first time there was concern in at least Porthos' and Aramis' eyes. More importantly towards the stain in her dress, she'd forgotten about that.

   It was only after the debriefing ended that their eyes returned back to their usual form and frankly she was relieved. She never wanted those looks of pity directed at her again. Not in her lifetime. Not from those specific pairs of eyes. Isabelle she could deal with but not them, never them, at least not yet.

   To that end she was almost thankful for D'Artagnan's and Constance's indifference. Even if she knew it was fake, at least it was polite.

   Tréville well he was another story entirely and the one making her feel most uncomfortable. She wasn't used to seeing guilt coming from his eyes least of all directed at her and she wished him to stop that immediately. She knew what he really was guilty about. She knew exact timing of his decision thanks to the Durant and while yes she was angry and yes she hated his timing it wouldn't do to cry over spilt milk or to pass the blame onto someone else. Her troubles with Athos lay between Athos and her alone; not anyone else, not ever. Why couldn't they see that.

   Oh yes because Athos was a good man according to them. Never the villain, never the one truly in the wrong. She cursed inwardly then, she cursed all of them. No man who has the ability to hang the ones he loves can ever be deemed good, it was just common sense but then again soldiers always seemed to lack the necessary amount of it; they wouldn't be soldiers if they did.

   Spies on the other were renown for having too much; but she didn't want to think about that.

   It was Constance oddly enough that noticed that they had omitted something about the night's events in their debrief. It was plain from their ill timed furtive glances to each other. Athos' shame ridden glances at the blood stain on Milady's dress and Milady's veiled looks of wonderment at the white glove on his table that Constance had never seen before. It was all so disjointed and unconnected but there was a pattern there she was sure of it. A pattern that she was sure that they would never disclose no matter how many drinks they were plied with.

   And for once she was inclined to agree with them. Inclined to believe that there was more to Milady that what she first thought and ultimately more to Athos than she dared to think. All she knew was that her husband wouldn't be happy about the change of her mind.

   It didn't matter though. It just didn't matter because in the end all that mattered was the couple in question. She saw that now or at least was beginning to.

   How fortunate indeed that everyone else apart from them was thinking along the same lines though each showing it in their own unique ways. Porthos already knew, this just reaffirmed his beliefs. Aramis understood and prayed not to be dragged into their mess, he had enough to deal with in his life. Tréville was trying as hard he could to not think about them and D'Artagnan was just utterly frustrated with the whole thing.

   It was Milady who once again broke the mounting tension once again when she announced her need to inform the Durant of the good news; her own list of demands notwithstanding. She turned to bid Athos goodbye when his pauldrons caught her eyes again. It was then she picked up the glove and walked out the door without another word.

   Athos flew right behind her.

   She only paused on the landing long enough for him to catch up before she gave him her glove back. His eyes shone at this and for a while she couldn't look into them for fear she would be converted completely. She wouldn't risk that yet, there was still hell to pay as far as she was concerned. Hell for both him and her. When she finally chanced it, to look into his eyes once again, the sun had gone done in them but instead she saw the sunset. She said nothing.

   She ran down the stairs without another word, vaulted onto her horse (he knew it) and then was off. She didn't even turn around but she didn't need to. She had already said enough.

   For a while he stood there before returning to his office and closing the door behind him tightly, afraid that if it was looser his heart would leap out of his chest and run after her. Then the image of her blood stained dress rushed unbidden into his head again and his slats shuttered. Once again signaling the return of Athos the Captain and not Athos the man.

   Reality (duty) called.

   It was only after she returned to her own office that she had time to reflect and process the night's events soberly (Athos intoxicating presence now no longer altering her mind) and tears started to form. His eyes haunting her. His eyes when he fucked her, when he remembered, and when she screamed his name. She knew then what her sleep would be occupied by. If only she could call it an unwelcome prospect, she couldn't. She wouldn't lie to herself. Not about this.

   It was only when the next morning came she decided to confine herself to her office. She couldn't chance bumping into Athos again and she thanked her lucky stars when Tréville never even once considered sending for him in their next session; him rightly guessing that they both would need time recovering with a night away from the other. He only hoped that Athos was doing something productive.

   He was, for he decided this would be one of the rare occasions that he would train the new cadets himself and not have others do it for him (mainly D'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos.) The skill in question; sword fighting- he was the best.

   Bizarrely it was Jean-Pierre who held the most promise. Odd, Athos thought, he could've sworn that Pierre would be the best fighter not swordsman but clearly he had misjudged him.

   It would turn out that neither him or Jean-Jacques would be the best fighter out of all the new cadets but another one entirely. They had already established that Jacques was the best marksman. They also had naturally assumed given his past he would also be the best swordsman. Jacques not wishing to state that he would in fact be better with hidden blade than sword if his past was going to be an indication of his skills base.

   Nor would he be much of a leader. That was always more Armand's job than his and that would be always more Pierre's job that his too. Though it would be Sylvie who would become the most important leader of all.

   For Pierre it would be Elodie. Always lionhearted Elodie.

   It was only after the third grueling hour of training that Athos addressed them all directly. He hadn't done that in weeks so they all rapturously payed attention. His voice was gravely proud and even. A far cry from the man he had been the other night with that mysterious woman that just kept popping up for some strange reason. They were all in for a shock as far as she was concerned.

   “I must tell you that I'm proud of all you new cadets standing here today. You may not be full Musketeers yet but I believe you all will become fine ones.” Their chests grew broader and they stood straighter. “I'm particularly impressed at your courage and ambition to become Musketeers in such troubled times but I must warn you all that if it's friendship your after then you might as well leave because I tell you now that not all of you will not survive this. Not all of you will be coming back home alive. So if your here only for brotherhood then you might as well leave now and cut your loses.” No one left, they all stood stock still as if rooted to the ground. “Very well but don't say that I didn't expressly warn you,” Athos left at that to return to his office; he still had his own work that needed finishing.

   They stood in silence a while after. It wasn't every day that ones Captain told oneself the stark and horrible truth of war and certainly not whilst one trained for it. They couldn't help but admire him but also curse the very ground he walked on. Hypocrite, they thought, to tell them that brotherhood was a waste of time considering his own proclivities. How dare he ask them not to treasure their own fostering brotherhood and not to act as if it would one of the only things that would help them fight to survive the front lines. How dare he ask them to give up on their new family so soon after its creation, to destroy it before it truly had time to settle and flourish.

   He was being dare they say it almost; cruel.

   He was being cruel and intentionally so. He didn't know why. It was probably due to the other night leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. Bitter and metal and wrong. The full reality of his actions baring down on his conscious making his heart (and other things) rot. He had yet again had sex with the woman who had killed Thomas, his brother, and felt utterly sick with himself (at least it wasn't because of drink this time) but what was the use. He had done it and with relish. What kind of a man was he, what kind of a soldier; all he knew was his actions weren't the actions of a man of honour. It was time he stopped acting like one, his mind whispered; the thought slipping traitorously into his spirit causing him to choke.

   It's time Athos, it's time.

   Come out of hiding. It's okay. Milady is waiting this time around. She's here waiting. Just do it. Admit it, she'll be ever so thankful.

   He shook his head. Enough he shouted into the barren wasteland that was his mind. Enough; it's too much too soon leave it be. Leave her be for now.

   Soon he found his hand, his right hand, snaked around another bottle of wine. His left hooking onto a glass. He stopped his mind slowly catching up to his soul.

   What on earth was he doing. Why was it every time his mind even slightly broached the subject of Milady (Anne) that this was his automatic reaction. Just another drink, just another glass. What's the harm, what's the use in feeling just drink the sorrows away, it'll be fine. She'll still be there. She was but that wasn't the point. He put the glass down first. He shuddered the memory of his last altercation whilst he was drunk around Milady stepping into the forefront of his mind.

   “My god. There really is nothing in there left to save.” He had said; actually said to her. When in fact it was the complete opposite. There was everything left to save. There was Anne left to save (Milady too but who was counting her then or now come to think of it.) There was them left to save. Them as husband and wife but now it was just so much more complicated. There was that night, the crossroads, the glove, England, the Duke of Buckingham of all people, and France added to the list of things getting in the way of them and the list was already terrifyingly large to begin with.

   Enough of that, he ventured, enough.

   Soon evening came but instead of Constance being sent to the garrison it was Isabelle. The queen believing that the quicker Isabelle was a part of the garrison's community the better for all concerned.

   She stopped at the entrance, her resolve shaking until she saw a familiar face in the bustle of the garrison at night. It was once again Porthos who was her comfort in the unknown entity that was the Musketeers garrison. He walked up to her then. His eyes looking interested and keen but instead of making her feel at home in the conventional way by sending her to the Captain's office sat her down at one of the tables near the stairs and told her what was expected of her, this being determined by Athos and Constance already.

   This should've set her off immediately if it weren't for the way the rules were being told to her. His tone was firm but not demanding and there was something so warm to it, a far cry from her father's or fellow Durants. She felt welcome and trusted. If only she could trust them back, she thought, if only she had the capacity. She would given enough time and practice. This was the night where it all began though.

   He listed her expected duties. The people she would be dealing with the most. Constance and him being among that group of people and how to address Athos properly.

   “Milady can take care of herself,” had been said but that felt wrong to her somehow like her friend wasn't a person who could get hurt at least in the eyes of these people.

   She had to respond. “She shouldn't have to,” was all she said on the matter and Porthos found that he couldn't disagree. No Milady shouldn't have to take care of herself all on her own. Athos was still her husband and it was obvious that she still loved him and that he loved her. So why was it so hard for his friends to admit that Milady deserved their support. They supported him after all and wasn't he just like Milady. A former thief turned soldier when he finally believed that he deserved better that what life had given him. And Milady was a soldier. She just so happened to work for the Cardinal and after what had happened with the whole incident with his father he couldn't help but think that the Cardinal and Tréville had a lot more in common than just working for the Crown. Difference was that Tréville had men he could trust whereas the Cardinal was far too paranoid for such luxury. And their former Captain's actions as of late well; they had a distinct note of the Cardinal about them.

   Porthos had a feeling that they'd be needing the Cardinal a lot more in the days to come and what better than the Cardinal's best agent. If only he knew how much like Tréville he was sounding right then.

   But back to Isabelle. It was turning out that she was a fast learner. It was clear to him that she was a fellow autodidact after all a man like her father couldn't have possibly taught her all the things that she had learned. A man like that wouldn't care enough. He knew that from personal experience now. His father was exactly like hers but he at least had the fortune not to be raised by the man. She had no choice in the matter and had clearly suffered for it. Payed for it with her soul and his heart couldn't help but fell enraged at that. Such a good soul being dragged down by one so bad, he'd seen that plenty of times but it had always bugged him more when it was a woman being the one dragged down in such a manner, particularly if the one doing the dragging was a much older man. To have that man be her father was just the sour cherry on top and he didn't like it one bit.

   Not one measly, sorry bit.

   So he decided then to be the one to show her the beauty in the world. To be the one to show her that she didn't have to live in shadow of what her father had done to her. That she could, should move on.

   To be the one to center her.

   It was then he started to talk a bit about himself. His life, his background; all of it, and how he came to be a Musketeer in the first place. She sat enraptured throughout the whole thing. She couldn't help think just how brave this man was, to be given such a bad hand and instead of trying to make it better throwing it away and daring to get a whole new one. She wished she had that sort of courage but alas she wasn't as pure at heart as this man clearly was.

   They sat there talking not making one passing glance at the passage of time until one of the cadets dared to interrupt their conversation, hurrying his suggestion that Isabelle should probably get back to the palace before scurrying off to bed; not even stopping long enough to grab his glass of wine in the process.

   She relented stating that it would probably be best if she left sooner rather than later. The Queen had not given her permission to stay out throughout the night as she didn't want to push her luck.

   It was an awkward goodbye purely because of the the fact that the both of them equally didn't want to leave the others presence so soon but they conceded after remembering that they would in fact be seeing each other again.

   It would be the next morning as it turned out. The queen obviously underestimating the speed of which Isabelle could learn.

   So there she was the next morning back at the Musketeers garrison, again. This wasn't what she was expecting at all when she decided to become a lady-in-waiting. If it wasn't for Porthos and Constance being as accommodating as possible she would've gotten pretty frustrated by this point. As it stood at present she was just plain old nervous and felt she didn't quite fit into the Musketeers world. Which was strange for she was Durant and they were widely known for their ability to fit into any social situation that they were required. Maybe it was because she was trying to fit in as Isabelle and not as a Durant that was the cause of her problems but yet she couldn't quite find it in her to be a Durant in the garrison. She felt that it would be distasteful.

   She was starting to hate being one. Why wasn't being just Isabelle Sutherland enough for anyone these days. It wasn't enough for the Queen (though it would be,) It wasn't enough for Milady (it was not that she knew,) and it certainly hadn't been enough for her father. The one person who it should've mattered to the most.

   She stopped herself. It was a year ago, a whole year ago now that she killed her father and yet every little bit of her life was being controlled by his memory. Her decision to go to Paris, to become a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, to be a part of the Musketeer garrison, her own opinion of herself. Everything was being dictated by her father's impact on her soul. She grew sick at that thought. A man who couldn't even love his own kids was still such a prevailing force in her life. Why she couldn't she let him go she asked herself.. Why was she still relenting to his will. Because she was the one who actually killed a family member in the end. It was her who committed the ultimate sin, to kill ones parent. She didn't deserve to not have his memory haunt her.

   She didn't deserve to be free. Not from him or her torment.

   Porthos thought quite the opposite. He couldn't help but think it there was anyone who deserved to finally be free it would be her. A woman who hadn't known freedom her entire life and even after taking control into her own two hands still walked away with nothing. With nothing to show for it apart from new scars and apparently an unrelenting belief that she didn't deserve the freedom she fought so valiantly for anymore.

   People say that he was a bad judge of character but at least with her he knew, just knew he had made the right judgment. She was a good woman and he would do anything to make her see that. Anything that was in his power.

   But how had he come to conclusion that she felt unworthy well it was written all over her face. In every feigned smile, forced laugh, and hollow conviction of her innocence. He had to fight every flinch that came with the sight of all those actions, actions that betrayed her true image of herself and it wasn't a pretty picture he could tell. Her only real smile was dedicated to others and not to herself. He was thankful and supremely touched that he was one of those people and would always cherish it to the best of his ability. Surely she wouldn't hate him if he used her obvious high opinion of himself to help her see the light in the process. Surely not.

   It was then that Aramis burst into the fray. His need for the dramatic still evident but strangely tempered as if he realized that whatever show he was putting was only being noticed by him and no one else. Of course it wasn't they all had their own shows now. With D'Artagnan it was Constance, with Athos it was Milady and now it seemed with Porthos it was Isabelle if he were to guess by the looks that the both of them were giving the other. He was performing to no one and he didn't like it. Not one bit. Even the war had stopped the only audience member he cared about from coming to watch.

   He didn't know whether to fight tooth and nail against that or take that as the final sign that his day as a libertine were well and truly over. That he should just throw in the towel and be done with it.

   He sat down on one of the benches weary and tired. It was the exact same thing he was willing to give up in the monastery so why did he feel so entitled to it now, especially in the city were he committed so much wrong because he was one.

   He knew the reason of course; Anne. If there was even a hint of promise coming from her direction he would always relent, always bow down. He knew that it wasn't healthy. This obsessive love he had for her. For Christ's sake it had killed too many people. Rochefort (though he obviously didn't count,) Lemay, and worst still Marguerite. Poor Marguerite who hadn't done anything to warrant being mixed up in his retched and immoral business with the Queen. And now she was dead and he couldn't help but feel like it was Adele all over again but worse; much worse. At least he could claim that he loved Adele back and have that claim be genuine but he just couldn't with Marguerite and therein lied his problem.

   He had absolutely no right to any women's body unless he could also give them his heart right back. But he couldn't; his heart fell squarely with the Queen and now he had to resign himself to that. Oh god he had to be a celibate man. A celibate man in Paris. Dear god; he could just see their faces now.

   He was just about to when a messenger arrived for Athos. Great another middle man for Tréville. He didn't even see Athos until he was on his horse riding of to the palace again. He couldn't help but feel jealous. For Athos to have a valid reason to go to palace and him stuck watching hopelessly as he rode off to the place where he wished he could every day but couldn't. It was then he was struck with the realisation that he hadn't seen Anne privately in six months and his own son longer than that. He guessed this was the price to pay for committing treason but even he in his wildest dreams couldn't imagine the price being this steep or draining but it was. His heat aching constantly and without reprieve, his mind slowly turning into a bottomless pit, and his soul spiraling with no end in his sight.

   It was all he could do not to feel sorry for himself. He knew, at least, that he hadn't done nearly enough to deserve that luxury yet. He didn't know if he could, if he would ever deserve such a thing.

   In any event it was just he and Porthos left in the courtyard and he for one didn't want to interrupt Porthos and his new lady friend. Ironic considering the sheer amount of situations it had been the other way around. But he couldn't begrudge his friend. If there was anyone who didn't deserve love more than Porthos he would like to know. If only he could be certain that this new lady wouldn't tear into him just as she had done with Athos once she knew the truth about him. He shuddered. He wasn't looking forward to that day at all.

   If there was anything he had learned in last few years it was this. That women were to feared and rightly so.

   He stood there for a moment before rallying the cadet to start their training. That it seemed was his new responsibility under Athos' captaincy. Well he, Porthos' and D'Artagnan's. It was then he spotted it, that almost unperceptive sigh of disappointment. Strange, they weren't like that around Porthos or D'Artagnan. He wasn't to know that it was because the cadets knew of his philandering ways. After all some of them had sisters and even mothers who had fallen under his spell. It was Jacques who would tell them this and Pierre who would confirm.

   It was also because, though he loathed to admit and never would, that D'Artagnan was becoming a better leader than Aramis could ever dream of being. He guessed that this was what Athos meant, that he had the potential of becoming the best Musketeer of them all. Figures it would be a war that would catalyze the start of that journey.

   Back to Porthos and Isabelle. Porthos had finally made Isabelle laugh. It was the kind of laugh that ringed and filled up any space that it found itself in so much so that everyone stopped for a moment to enjoy it. That's it, Porthos thought, There is no way he wasn't going to hear that again. It was the best laugh he's heard in years. He loved it.

   But back at the palace, Athos thought. Back at the palace again to not be right by his Majesty's side. This was honestly not what he had expected at the start of the war but it was becoming very, very apparent that Tréville had a completely different view on his skills set than he did.

   And once again he found himself in Milady's office staring at an ever growing intricately complicated map. Staring at lists and lists of people. One a list of people to trust. Another a list of people to not. A list of people who they could only trust after there were given the requisite amount of money/favours. A list of people they could get the whole story from and a list of people they would only get the minimum amount of information from for free and so on and so forth. Athos never knew that war could be so complicated or the amount of people that were involved in it who weren't soldiers and healers. Tréville wasn't surprised at all. Figures.

   But unlike last time Athos was doing his utmost not to be near Milady. He couldn't afford any lapses in propriety especially around the Durant who already were too in on the joke as it was. The joke that at often times it was Athos deferring to Milady and not the other way around. Of course she wouldn't, he chastised himself, she's the spymaster and he was just another Captain of another military regiment no matter how prestigious. That sort of thing didn't matter so much anymore. It was war; every soldier was the same as the next and every Captain was equal to whatever other Captain came along.

   Though there was one thing that was becoming glaringly obvious. Milady was one scarily well informed individual.

   Her knowledge of Paris rivaled that of even the most seasoned resident. Her knowledge of France was as vast as much as it was unexpected. She could even rattle off facts about other countries with such accuracy and speed it was more than a little frightening. She was definitely the best of all of the Cardinal's agents.

   Athos didn't know how to feel about that. How he felt about just how brilliant Milady was and how she'd come to be because as much as the Cardinal would love to get the credit for the marvel that was Milady now he knew it was him who inspired his wife to become the woman he saw before him. The reason she had to become Milady in the first place; to survive and because she felt that she needed to confirm his.

   No. Don't cross over the threshold of that door. That's the point of no return, Athos. He thought he knew better. He should know better by now but obviously not. He looked at Milady again but this time ventured to be closer to her but to find only when he did that she enlarged the gap between them once more. He tried again to find the same result. This wasn't new but it was still strange. Her hesitancy to get close to him in any substantial intimate way. It was a dance, the first dance he happened to be not very good at but would have to learn if he wanted to be with her again as husband and wife not just Athos and Milady. If only he knew that there was a third party invested in Milady too and not in a superficial way either.

   Oh how convenient for him to have forgotten to ask whether she was still the Duke's mistress. More fun for the Durants then.

   She'd forgotten as well. Unfortunately she'd also forgotten how well connected he was because right about now he was finding out that he'd gotten much more than he bargained for when choosing her as his new mistress (for he only really chose her to humiliate the French King) but for her to be the new spymaster in Paris; well things had gotten a lot more interesting. He couldn't wait to give her a little surprise visit after all he had so many plans for her. After all to the rest of the french court she was unmarried. Thank goodness for his little spies.

   It was only when they stopped to eat that Athos managed to corner Milady, his patience wearing thin and by some divine providence they weren't interrupted though lord knows Milady wanted them to be.

   This was not happening. The first time around she planned to leave Paris but now she was forced to face the reality of their actions. Of the way she felt, that he felt, his friends, her new friend and Paris in general. This was why she wanted to leave in the first place. She didn't know if Anne and Olivier even fit in Paris or whether Athos and Milady could live as husband and wife in it. Not with everything that had happened between them. Not after the Cardinal. That's why she wanted to stick with being Milady in the first place. To make him hate her enough so that he couldn't see the real issue. The real issue being of course that they could never be together in Paris. That even if they were to reunite they could never thrive again. That they had no future in Paris. Not with her history.

   Sarazin would've found her eventually if she didn't have the Cardinal's protection and she couldn't live with herself if she brought Sarazin into Athos' world. Even though he was dead his poison still lingered. Poison she didn't have the antidote for.

   Her and Athos, her and Olivier. In Paris. It was an exercise in futility. Why couldn't he see that.

   But there he was and there she was and her body was currently betraying her like it had done the other night. Like it had done the night in Rochefort's office and the hours after. She was getting quite sick of it. Her body acting like her heart and her mind meant nothing. Had no say in who she shared it with. But currently it was doing whatever the hell it pleased but she wasn't going down without a fight.

   She finally took that crucial step aside and walked out from underneath Athos' shadow. Took the necessary strides forward so that there was an entire table's width between them. Athos noted this and when he tried to go around it he found Tréville of all people blocking his path.

   Tréville had witnessed the entirety of their interactions thus far and he wasn't pleased. Wasn't pleased one bit with Athos' behavior. For God's sake, he thought, act like a professional. Act with some modicum of propriety but when he saw that clearly wouldn't be the case he knew he would have to step in.

   So he did. He'd never thought he would see the day when Milady would look thankful for his actions but then again he was having many of these kinds of days. Days where he was doing things that he thought he'd never do, saying things he wouldn't ever say given different circumstances, and thinking in certain ways that made him horrified at the potential of his own mind. He never wanted to be a politician but he was now and it was torture.

   But from now on he would show any Musketeer who thought otherwise that we was on Milady's side now. For it was Milady and Milady only who was going to win him the war. Not Porthos, not Aramis, not D'Artagnan. And certainly not Athos. It was Milady and he was her employer. It was time she was given the proper respect she deserved after all he was her new Cardinal. He was no longer Captain of the Musketeers.

   It was time they all knew.

   Athos was affronted at such a bold display of loyalty but ultimately hurt by his former Captain's choice of who to side with. But why was he so surprised it was him who brought Milady back to Paris and him who Milady ultimately seemed to trust the most even after all that he'd done to them; had stopped him, had stopped them from doing. Yet again who could blame her, his eyes honing in on her choker, who could blame her.

   She felt his eyes there, on her neck and suddenly had the urge to shout for him. To stop him, to hold him but she stopped herself just in time. This was neither the time and place for the mending of broken souls.

   It seemed like the only concrete bit of light in the whole Musketeer garrison was Constance and D'Artagnan's child. It was the only thing that the garrison had celebrated in such a long time and frankly they needed that kind of news. If not because they loved seeing one of their brothers get what he truly wanted but because it lightened the atmosphere around the garrison; which was becoming just a little too oppressive for anyone's liking. Though still a child being born in a time of war; they guessed they'd have to make do.

   That was quickly becoming the philosophy, the motto of the hour. They'd just have to make to do. Make do with their training, make do with the time they had to actually be the brothers they were, and make do with the time they'd left to spend in the city that they so dearly loved; that brought them all together.

   The front line was looming in the horizon and they weren't ready yet, weren't ready to say goodbye.

   D'Artagnan was probably the most unready of them all. He had just found out he was going to be a father after all. He couldn't go to a random field out there somewhere along the French border and die. He had a wife, a family to take care of. A child he wanted to make sure knew their father. A child, his child. He stopped in wonderment at the thought. Not two years into being a Musketeer and he had found eternal brothers, a wife, and was about to become a father. A home. A true home where he had a future and possibilities.

   He only wished he could say the same for the rest but particularly Porthos. He loathed to admit it but in the early days he didn't feel like he had much of a kinship with the man but now he felt like he and Porthos were more in line these days than he and Athos. They both fought for justice, both had fire in their hearts, both wanted a family but the difference was that he'd found his. Porthos hadn't. He hadn't even found his woman yet.

   Though perhaps. Not that anyone would agree with him. D'Artagnan believed himself to be at least a somewhat observant man and the way that Porthos looked at Isabelle. Well he had never seen anything of the like from him before. And to his surprise he liked seeing him like that even though Isabelle might not be the exact kind of woman he'd have chosen for Porthos himself. But maybe he might have misjudged her. Her story, her life. It was like he was hearing some sick joke and he was just waiting for the punchline but it never came. It was her that was the punchline and nobody deserved that, nobody. He'd always taken his father's love for granted but to meet someone who lived with a heartless father and him seeing the damage directly. Well, he was now glad for his father's love all the more.

   He resolved to actually getting to know her and not racing to rash judgments like he had done with Milady. It was clear that there was more to her, more to Athos than met the eye and he'd ignored that to make himself feel better. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair on him as an individual, wasn't fair on Athos, and definitely wasn't fair on Milady no matter his personal feelings on the matter. It's time he stopped being so impulsive and just stop and think. Head over heart.

   Head over heart.

   Constance wasn't feeling much better about the whole thing. She'd always loved to believe that she was the mature one but yet had made the exact same rash judgments towards Milady and Isabelle.

   But she was going to make amends starting from now. She was going to help Isabelle get Porthos if that was the last thing she did before having her child. She didn't know what Milady wanted so she was going to leave her be for now but Isabelle. It was clear what, or should she say who, she wanted. It was as clear as day. Her eyes were her biggest give away. If only she hadn't of made her suspicious of her. Isabelle was a Durant and she wouldn't have taken her questioning (although unspoken) of her motives lightly. They never do.

   It would be nice if the next time she was about to insult a woman who had the capacity to hold a grudge and the means to act on said grudge that she had some prior warning so as to not gain their ire. That would be lovely.

   She sighed, though not too hard as to gain the attention of the Queen, she really should've seen Isabelle as a potential friend and not a potential traitor. She had given Marguerite the benefit of the doubt so why didn't she do the same for Isabelle. Why was she letting Rochefort still control her actions and how she related to the world.

   Didn't she deserve sisterhood. Didn't she deserve to have sisters like her husband had brothers. She needed sisters and as much as she wanted her to be the Queen was no sister.

   Isabelle could be, Milady could be but not her.

   It was time she went out and got sisters of her own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Inspiration (and motivation) were lacking.

   It wasn't long before the garrison got back into a steady routine. It was just of constant stream of training, eating, drinking, assignments, and sleep (both kinds if they were lucky.) The only thing that changed was the face giving the orders, well sometimes, but only three faces were in that mix. Athos', Porthos', and D'Artagnan's. Aramis of course was left out. Porthos was quickly becoming Tréville's replacement in the matter of being a surrogate father for some of the younger Musketeers. It just came easily to him. Athos was not the fatherly type as much as he may wish otherwise and D'Artagnan was once again just too young. He just wasn't ready yet.

   Though for the rest of the garrison no one could replace Tréville in their hearts and they didn't want to. Porthos didn't want to. Tréville was as much his father as theirs. And it was a simply a matter of fact that they missed him. They wanted their father to come home but he couldn't. He was off being a politician whilst they were stuck doing the real hard work. That was harsh but still the sentiment was there.

   Musketeers never liked being abandoned especially by their own.

   Though that didn't matter so much to one Musketeer at present. His mind was otherwise occupied by other ridiculous frustrations. This Musketeer being their illustrious Captain himself. He had once again come back from another session at the palace of Milady rebuffing his advances over and over again and quite frankly he was getting tired of it. It was in times like these he regretted dropping his, well her, locket because the pauldrons she could ignore they were just part of his uniform but the locket. The locket always stood out; would've made it plain for her and everyone to see that he was still hers and more importantly vise versa.

   And she was still his.

   Milady didn't need reminding. She knew even before he did.

   But Paris, Athos. Paris. She couldn't help wondering how he thought that was ever going to be a good idea. She knew why of course. Sarazin or rather the lack thereof of him in his knowledge of her. But once again she found herself in the position of Athos not knowing there was even a penny in the air and she waiting for that exact same penny to drop.

   Fitting that it should be the same penny as before just manifested differently.

   She was no longer the King's mistress or the Cardinal's creature after all.

   It was only three days after that particular day that she found herself thanking god profusely. The reason, a mission. More specifically a masquerade. One that she had to attend for the mission to go smoothly. The mission itself, information or rather the much needed meeting of a rather important border figure. A figure that only trusted Milady to get things done properly, this figure being one of the last remaining members of the old guard. A figure who incidentally the Spanish spies knew by face and name and had orders to kill on sight. The masquerade was the only way for him to be in Paris anonymously, well as anonymously as he could be.

   The catch being of course that he would only speak with Milady on the matter of his whereabouts. This man was not so much cautious as completely paranoid but of course birds of a feather.

   All Milady saw it as was a night where she could escape from Athos' constant presence in her life, evade his (although subtle) propositions and catch up with a person who understood her well enough to leave her the hell alone when the time was right.

   Besides she always loved dancing. If only she knew the machinations going on in her dear husbands head.

   A masquerade. A masquerade where there will be music, food, and dancing. Dancing, Athos thought, she always did love dancing and she always did yearn to dance with him. It was time she remembered that.

   It was in times like these that Tréville begged for reprieve. Being around those two whilst they were like this was slowly becoming as insufferable as Aramis and he hated Aramis at the best of time when it came to the mattes of the heart. It was Milady he didn't understand. He knew of the crossroads and her proposition. The glove and her discovery of it. Yet her distance now was the thing that boggled him the most. Surely, surely she would make an effort now. Try again. All was not lost. He just couldn't fathom why Milady of all people was being hesitant towards Athos. And if there was one thing that he both wanted for them in this war it was this. Them. A reason for both of them to live; to survive. To have those two die on him was simply unbearable. But for them to die without the others love that thought was unholy, simply unthinkable.

   It was time to fix what he helped break.

   Porthos was also not in such a great mood. It seemed as if the Queen felt that Isabelle had learned all that she needed for Isabelle hadn't been in the garrison for over a week and whenever he saw her in the palace she was always busy or whisked away before he could fit in a simple Hello or Good whatever the time may be. In short he missed her which was odd considering how little time they'd actually spent together but all the same. He did. Hell he even missed her, although not as much as did now, when she went back to England almost two years ago. Time really does fly. Time he had so little of before he met his maker.

   He needed something to come back to that wasn't a slowly emptying garrison. He needed. No, he wanted love. Real love. A love that wasn't scared. A love that understood what he was trying to do with his life. Someone who had the same fire the he did. The same heart. She did. Isabelle did. She wasn't scared of violence; he could tell that straight away nor was she afraid to be in a world surrounded by Kings and Queens. A world that he was a part of and used violence to protect. A world that she was already a part of in another country but could also in this country too. She'd already started becoming a part of it. In fact she was. It was all a matter of her feeling like she did.

   That's where he came in. He had to.

   Isabelle was starting to grow rather frustrated with her new Queen. She knew her place within court; knew her role yet the Queen had started crossing boundaries, blurring lines where she shouldn't. Isabelle wasn't the Queen's confidante or personal adviser yet she kept dragging her into such matters. She felt a little sorry for Constance to be honest. Pregnancy is not that debilitating (at least to start off with.) She didn't even want to think about the other reason for the Queen could possibly be for circumventing court etiquette. Not today. Not ever if she could get afford to.

   Though she knew why. Public sentiment. The Queen was Spanish, the enemy; and she needed the public on her side. She needed the people not to at least hate her. Her husband could afford to be hated but not her. Not her. So she needed someone who had the means, the knowledge, and the strategies that she could equip herself with at any time to help her cause. Isabelle was that person. She was a Durant, politically savvy, intelligent. The perfect weapon.

   The only problem. She wish she wasn't. Milady was the ideal candidate for the role not her. Milady was of the people; was the people once upon a time even Constance was better suited to gauge public opinion better than her. Nobility however well-intentioned should never believe they can see the world from common eyes and much as she wished otherwise she wasn't common. Far from it.

   She said as much to Constance that following afternoon. To which the only response she got was. “I now what you're trying to say and I get where you're coming from but I think you're wrong but you're right about one thing. You're not the best for it, well not at the moment but you'll learn. You'll learn,” and before she could splutter a reply Constance was off but not before turning back around with a knowing (and irritating) wink then going off in her own merry little way.

   She just couldn't understand Constance. In one minute she could be shrewd and spiteful, another impulsive and courageous, the next quiet and wise, and just before loving and caring. She was truly a fascinating woman, so fascinating hat she almost forgot about her initial actions towards her. The apparent lack of trust she held for her in the beginning. She must have seen the error of her ways, she rationalized, those rumours about the previous governess.

   By the time she returned to the Queens' apartments it looked as if Constance had told the queen about her reservations because the Queen looked, dare she say it, almost apologetic; mollified even for she said.

   “Isabelle I will not have need of your services tonight. Please take the rest of the day off, get to know Paris. You've barely had the chance to get to know the city and its charms. Learn about your new home, I insist.” At that she rushed off. She thanked the heavens for her good memory, finding the garrison with little trouble.

   To seem polite she asked several Musketeers if there was anything she could do before making a bee line for the Musketeer she really came to the garrison for only slightly put off by the sight of his back before quickly rectifying that by gently tapping his shoulders.

   He spun around quickly making her thankful for her long arms and the space she put between them. That only lasted a split second however because her thoughts were suddenly filled with something so much brighter. The smile his face split into when he saw her. It was half surprise, half glorious relief and she felt warm. She did that, she thought, she made him smile like that. This time she was too distracted to ask why instead just relishing in the feeling of feeling good for once.

   Unfortunately Athos pitched up right at that moment but apparently learning from Tréville's mistakes locked any words he was about to say to his friend. He froze to the ground after seeing Porthos' visage seeing a smile he'd never seen before. The smile being the one Porthos was wearing and when he finally ventured to turn his head round to Isabelle he saw almost an exact copy plastered over hers. That's a new development. Unexpected but it felt right. It was only when his friend looked as if he might actually want to talk instead of staring that Athos once again vanished up into his office.

   “The Queen finally let you go?” Isabelle laugh bubbled. “Guess she just wants you to feel comfortable,” Isabelle nodded, “knew it. But if there anything I can do just let me know.”

   She immediately swallowed; forcing the bile of rejection to stick in her throat.

   “Actually could you show me around Paris? I haven't got the chance to yet,”and before he had a chance to answer she added playfully, “The Queen explicitly recommended that I should but I can't do it alone. I don't know my way around.” The yet wasn't needed but felt. She didn't like it. She didn't like the feeling of knowing that one day she wouldn't need him. He didn't either. So it was left unsaid, unspoken; hopefully never.

   “Well I can't say no now after all I can't disobey the Queen's orders now can I?” He winked at her. Her heart jumped, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes shined brighter. All that was left to do now was loop her arms around his. Her arms burned throughout the entire action; unruly but pleasant. His did too. Their eyes connected and their blood surged, rushed in their veins. They had to, no they needed to move and so they did.

   Seeing Paris for the first time from his, a commoners, perspective probably wasn't what the Queen had in mind but for once she didn't care. It was fascinating. The little corners he took her to. The way he moved through Paris' parks. He even showed her some of the best taverns to go to which she would most definitely. It was his knowledge of Paris that really struck her, that left her with such a feeling of awe she couldn't quite explain. No aristocrat would have known quite as much as he did about the city she bet. No noblemen could have entranced her with the way they would have described the city that of which she was certain.

   Yet all of that paled in comparison to the most important thing she'd just discovered. This man. This fierce, generous man. This wonderfully kind man had a sharp mind. The kind that could keep up with hers. The mind that was hers naturally not the brain she was forced to have for the sake of appearances and family.

   An idea burst into her head at that thought. She had to paint him. She just had to. For posterity reasons of course but she just had to all the same.

   A painting of him would be one of the most gorgeous things she would ever see in this world and for her to be the one to do it. Such promise almost killed her heart but the fire it had within it. That fire could warm her forever.

   It was evening by the time they returned to the garrison feeling as light as feathers. Both arriving in such a state of humour and bliss that they were caught in their own little world. If they'd been paying attention they would've seen a rather unusual scene as of late. Tréville in the garrison looking as if he'd returned home (which he had) and looking as if he had something he needed to say.

   They almost jumped out of their skins when he finally did.

   “A lot of you are probably wondering why I'm here. Well I have a few things I need to say. First that above all that I am to you I'm the Minister for War. I have people under my employment that I must and will defend and protect above you all because I have to. They are the ones who're going to win the war, not you because you all know that you're just soldiers at the end of the day. Even if I have to take their side against yours doesn't mean that I still don't care about you. I simply have no choice.” The pointed nature of this point didn't go unnoticed by the Musketeers. Though only some knew what he was specifically referring to or rather who. Athos had guessed as much that day in Milady's office but he needed to hear from the horse's mouth as it were.

   Though his point was clear. No more denigrating Milady; not when he was around.

   “My second point is that even though I'm forced to stay in palace I'm still here. My heart will always be bound to this place, to you all. Don't ever forget that or forget that I was and will always be in spirit a part of the Musketeers. This is my home, you all are and I need you to remember that especially in the months, years ahead.” At this all but the new Musketeers bowed their heads. The most blatant sign of respect they could muster in such a short period of time. It was just what they needed to hear. The removal of Tréville was a blow to them all but to hear that he never stopped thinking about them brought them much needed comfort. To know that he still cared for them all was the assurance they had been waiting so long for. Some were so moved that they started crying and if they were looking at him they'd see he was doing the same.

   “Lastly D'Artagnan.” at that said man's head bolted upright and his feet instantly started to walk towards his mentor/father. “When you came to us you had lost your father and there's no way I can bring him back. No way I can bring your child's grandfather back,” D'Artagnan just nodded. “With that being said your child needs one. Now I can't promise that I'll always be around but I can promise you that I'll be the best grandfather that your child will ever have if you'll allow me.” D'Artagnan nodded again he couldn't trust himself to not speak without sounding like a total thankless idiot so all that was left to was embrace Tréville confirming his consent.

   The only thing breaking the moment was Constance, who so happened to have arrived just before Tréville's speech, crashing through the courtyard and latching onto the former captain as well. She always felt thankful for Tréville's actions but this went above the pail and at that moment she knew that no matter what the war brought that their child would always be safe.

   Isabelle was stunned, simply stunned at the display before her. To see such admiration, trust, and love between people that weren't even family was so foreign to her that she almost couldn't comprehend what she was seeing. But isn't this exactly what she wanted, needed to have. Such kinship with such people, people who didn't have exhausting expectations of her. People who wouldn't ever use her for their own ends or for grand political schemes. People who would just love her and would be content with just her returning the same kind of love back.

   It was only when Porthos intertwined his hands with hers that she was brought back to the land of the awake. His eyes were glistening, tears tracks visible even in the dim light accompanied by a smile that was about a foot wide alarmingly she felt something break off and fall from the outer rim of her heart. She tried to rush and grab at it before seeing it for what it was. It was a piece of shell. A piece that reminded her of her father when she finally did. It floated into her hand; still, almost lifeless but still fixable. She examined it briefly before she felt another take it from her hands and drop it. She only saw the person's hands but knew who they belonged to straight away. They were Porthos' and for once she didn't feel angry about letting something of her father's waste away. It almost felt right in a way, like this was what she should have been doing all along.

   She couldn't thank him for this act so all she did was squeeze his hand. In return all that got was a knowing glance and the feeling of being safe, well as safe as she could be.

   They immediately picked up from where they left off before Tréville so rudely and brilliantly interrupted them and and became so engrossed with each other they didn't even notice the slow disintegration of the crowd and that once again Tréville had moved unexpectedly.

   In truth Tréville wanted to speak to Porthos about a promotion he'd receive upon stepping onto the front lines. He knew this was a long time coming but there really wasn't much chance at upward mobility in the Musketeers it was just the rank of soldier then Captain but in war. In war there were so many other opportunities. Now he wanted to make Porthos at least a Lieutenant but protocol had to be observed so he had to do with simply Sergeant for now but that would quickly change if he had his way but Porthos had to gain the respect of his fellow soldiers first.

   He wasn't so sure about Aramis just yet. He was still too much of a loose cannon. It was all a matter of him making the right decision in his love life. Make the wrong one and he would never even see promotion. Treason was still treason and even if it was unofficially sanctioned by the Queen herself he could not in a good conscious promote a traitor to any position of authority in the army. Aramis could complain all he wanted but he simply couldn't allow it. Not on his watch.

   But before he could get Porthos' attention his own eyes caught up to the situation at hand. When did that happen, he asked no one. When did Porthos connect with the Queen's new lady-in-waiting and why was he only finding out now. The Durants were going to have him killed. They had expressed over lunch several times how they wished to see Isabelle married off to a noblemen of their choosing but he was rapidly losing the heart to even think about telling them this. This he didn't want to stop. He just hadn't seen Porthos look this happy and content before. And the look that Isabelle had. She looked free for the first time since he's seen her those two years ago. Granted that she was trying to clear her family's name then but all the same. They were a sight he wouldn't mind seeing again.

   They were a damn sight better than Milady and Athos at any rate.

   Speaking of; it wasn't until he heard the clatter of his boots on the stairs that he felt his body make the now unusually familiar journey to his once proud office. He found himself cursing his luck before once again pushing upon that too familiar door and stepped into the room he hadn't seen for six months. Athos deserved this news in person.

  Athos only vaguely acknowledged his presence before he said, “The mission tomorrow night has been altered. It turns out there will two contacts that we need to establish contact with in attendance instead of the one we were expecting but the parameters haven't changed. They will only speak with Milady.” Typical, bloody typical. “And I'm sorry that I have to be the to tell you this but the second contact will only agree if Milady agrees to do certain things for him.”

   Athos felt his head throb at that. His teeth grated his next words out, “What type of things Tréville?” Though he already knew exactly what road of which he was alluding.

   “You already know Athos. Don't make me say it.”

   Athos' heart roared from inside him. His inner beast was growling, snarling at the mere thought of him having to watch his wife yet again seduce other men right in front of his eyes. She was his but not his at the same time and quite frankly it was starting to get more than a little aggravating, in fact it was down right insulting especially after her discovery of what he carried around everywhere. After what they did on that wall. She should know better by now.

  And if she didn't well he would just have to teach her better. He had to, his sanity was on the line.

   And his heart.

   This was getting ridiculous, Aramis thought. There's Porthos again with his lady, D'Artagnan was of course with his, and Athos well he didn't even want to know what was going on there but at least their was the potential of reconciliation. And what did he have.

   Nothing.

   Well nothing that he could parade about and be seen with in public.

   And that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it. Aramis could ask forgiveness from God all he wanted, become a monk if need be but if he didn't actually start living honestly then what good could he really do. What was the point in being the hero if he had to lie to do so. He couldn't be the religious man his soul needed him to be and be romantically involved with the Queen. Those two things were fervently mutually exclusive concepts and considering he was going to sent to the front lines well; he needed god on his side more than ever. But his heart was betraying him every single day, betraying his sense of nobility; of honour. His resolve was waning. Choose celibacy but regain heaven by doing so or choose his Anne and face what was sure to be eternal damnation. He did not fancy his chances that his time with Anne from here to his death would be worth that price.

   Not with the war going on. But really who was he kidding. The real reason was still that body that lay so lifelessly that their cold hands could still wake him up at night. Marguerite would forever be his ghost and ghost he wouldn't, not again, ignore. His neglect killed her, he wouldn't allow his neglectful nature to ruin her memory too if that were at all possible.

   Strange that he was showing her more respect for her in death rather than in life where it truly mattered but this was the best he could manage. That seemed to be the case more and more recently.

   His deference to her only highlighting how pathetic he truly was. Not that anyone would tell him that.

   If nothing else he still had his charm and his good looks for all the good that would do him. Oh and his skill with a pistol. That should come in handy in his upcoming battles. At least he wouldn't die straight away. Maybe he would have the time to fully atone for his sins.

   Only if God decided to be merciful. Only then.

   He wasn't the only man in the garrison unduly irritated at his romantic circumstances. The two Jean's were seething as well.

   They were exhausted; ever since Aramis had decided that every new cadet needed to train twice as hard every day (which only made them all resent him more) which meant one thing. They just didn't have the time or energy to sneak out to see Sylvie in Jacques' case and Elodie for Pierre's. Frankly they missed them. Pierre missed Elodie's candidness about her view of life and her strong sense of morality and decency. Jacques missed Sylvie's rants about philosophy, ideology, but above all missed her shrewd, intelligent mind.

   Simply put they were overworked men who just needed some time to relax and enjoy life before they had to risk theirs.

   They said as much to each other that morning but only when night came could they really discuss in length their feelings about their severe training.

   The discussion went on for hours. It went on for so long that every single cadet had their say without being constrained by the passage of time. Which is a feat in and of itself. It was only when Aramis came into the courtyard that they all were truly silent; the rest of the time they spent their time in lively (albeit inflamed) discourse.

   What they didn't know was that Aramis heard the entire insult of an evening; grinning to himself like a mad man all the while listening to the cadets call him everything from bastard to dictator and every colourful insult in between. Ah yes there's nothing more potent in the game of male bonding than having a singular, all consuming thing to complain about. He hated that is was him but that was a sacrifice he was very happy to make. The new recruits were becoming brothers before his very eyes (and ears) and he had blackmail material up to the heavens. Mission complete. They wouldn't know what hit them.

   Result.

   Now on to the real pressing matter. Athos' wardrobe. He needed new attire for the masquerade. He couldn't very well wear the same thing two nights in a row. The shame of it. Everyone would notice. No that would not do. Not do at all.

   If only he heard the plans that they were concocting in their shared rooms in the garrison. The mass exodus out of the garrison the following night then he might have known to respect them just a tad more. He always would be a little slow on the uptake on that sort of thing.

   He never was much going to be much of a politician.

   That was Athos' job. He was the brains in that regard.

   Milady was also having a minor emotional meltdown as well completing the emotionally constipated trifecta. She had just received word of Athos' involvement in the next night's mission. Yet again her husband had to watch whilst she seduced other men (the King was bad enough) but this. This was just cruel. Him watching her affair with the King was necessary so he knew that he couldn't make another attempt on her life but this; even she could admit this was a little excessive.

   But maybe this would convince him once and for all that she would never be his again. That her body could never belong to him. Make him see that he had forfeited that pleasure and that she was finally a free woman.

  She needed him to get it. Really get it instead of just acting like it on a surface level.

   Hollow, those sentiments feel hollow Anne. Their about as believable as the Cardinal's religious convictions Milady. As in not very Milady.

   She tried to cut that serpent voice she didn't know existed within herself but what was the use. Itall felt so inevitable nowadays and that shook her. Shook her to her core. She shook herself again and focused on the task in front of her. A missive that the Duke had finally noticed her absence from his countryside estate.

   Just another hurdle to overcome that's all. There was no formal agreement between them. He'd replace her in time.

   If only she knew what wheels she turned in motion within the Duke she'd know better; know otherwise.

   Knew to read in between the lines in that missive. If only she had. If only she had.

   The following morning was the most restless morning that the garrison and the palace had ever had ever since the war had began. Nobody knew why but by the dawn of the next day they would all simultaneously answer that it was the smell, the smell in the air that set them all on edge that day. That was the cause of their almost too alert behavior. It was the smell of impending danger.

   This was the first sign of Spanish force in their city. The first taste of what the Spanish had planned for them but the first sign that their information network was working. The first sign of just how invaluable Milady was but also how necessary Athos would be in terms of the Milady's survival.

   Of just how connected the two were and how they'd always come as a package. Oliver and Anne or Athos and Milady or Anne and Athos or Milady or Oliver. Whatever combination they were on what day didn't matter. The only thing that would come to matter was that they were always together. Always fighting. Always persevering.

   Always victorious.

   But that was still a long ways off. But this was the true beginning of the Athos and Milady that wormed, crawled, and scraped their way all the way to the end of the war to watch it end hand in hand. Side by side watching their legacy form right in front of their eyes. Burning and bright.

   Anne and Oliver once again.

   Even the King felt the change. And how did he react to it; well by acting more childish that ever by locking himself and the garden up so that he could play with his son all day. Even the Queen wasn't allowed to intrude, that would ruin the distraction of course. Besides it gave her the excuse and the space necessary to send (however indirectly) for Aramis.

   He came of course; thankful that he found Athos a costume in record time, normally he would detest having to shop for such a limited amount of time but he felt the wrong sort of jumpy. It made his usual experience as wrong as him being sober on Saturday night.

   But the visit was strained. Like they both were dragging their arms on the floor. Every silence stretched, every word clipping at the end, every response just on tonal shade off. It was uncomfortable. For the first time one of their trysts felt wrong somehow. They were staggering, spluttering, and scratching their way through what was supposed to be a loving encounter. Even the angle to their kisses were off.

   What was happening to them. It didn't used to be like this. They used to shiver in anticipation for their next rendezvous but ever since the day he'd almost been killed it was like whatever spark they had was bizarrely lost. Which was contrary to what they felt that day. They vowed that they'd try to meet as much as possible. To submerge themselves in every moment they'd have together before he had to truly fight for his country. But that didn't happen. That wasn't happening and they didn't know why.

   What are they saying of course they knew why. Or rather who. Or rather the body they would ignore every single bloody time but that would always pop up seemingly out of nowhere. The corpse in the room they simply were never going to address. Because of course the Queen had never been in the wrong where Marguerite was concerned. Oh yes, apart from the fact that she was so distracted by Aramis (Marguerite's love) that she left her in the dust to be preyed upon by Rochefort. And distracted Aramis enough that he couldn't rescue her like he should've done.

   Never mind the initial sin that had almost destroyed them all. The affair or its bigger title Treason. But of course she was still a saint. Saint Queen Anne of Austria (mother of a false heir, adulterer, and the enemy's sister.)

   It was getting harder for her to vanish her crimes away, they were starting to haunt her now. They were even starting to haunt Constance now too. Constance was starting to see just how her fellow commoners could resent their monarchs and she didn't like it, not one bit. Why Majesty, Why did Marguerite have to die for her to see. To truly see the path she needed to take to mitigate her husband's bad rule. To never trust the people in court completely.

   But her bliss was always more important than true knowledge but now she knew and she was suffering. Suffering for the first time in her life and she was burning.

   It wasn't until she saw first glimpse of Milady just after Aramis left firing excuses like training and patrol that her blood really started to boil.

   It was lucky that their own friendly neighborhood Durant was in the vicinity. And this Durant gave her the biggest, most convoluted explanation she had ever heard of someone's necessary existence in the palace.

   Dear God. Her husband's Captain was married to his former mistress who had become the Duke of Buckingham's mistress who before that ever happened was the Cardinal's (her husband's most trusted and formidable adviser) agent and assassin who was forced to do so because her own husband had tried to kill her (A husband who was a bloody noble) and now was Tréville's spymaster to boot. She was truly starting to question her friendship with Constance and her partiality to Aramis. To have such ties with such people. It was her first peek on the goings on behind the scene's of her own country and she was starting to see why the Cardinal became to be such a paranoid and threatening figure. To have to deal with so much information, complex narratives, and have to be on the look out for the flaws in everyone. No wonder he became so insane as to try to have her assassinated.

   She'd always wondered why her husband's former mistress saved her alongside his Musketeers that day but she saw everything so clearly now. It was obvious that she still felt some attachment to Athos. It was clear even in the few seconds of their conversation she was allowed to see before she was rushed out of her apartments. And now that she thought about it; looking back on it Athos' behavior was a shade less civil than it should've been toward the King throughout that whole affair. Almost like he was sick to stomach with jealousy and revulsion that his King was having sex with his wife.

   Interesting. And now that she was back for the time being maybe she'd finally see Athos truly smile. She'd seen the rest of the Musketeers laugh and smile before but never him. She was curious, she wanted to see what his laughing looked like. She had a hunch that only Milady could resurrect it.

   She just had a feeling.

   She was also devoutly thankful that all that Milady did was sleep with her husband instead of attempting some kind of violence. She was capable of such acts after all.

   So that was it. The last remaining member of the her lover's circle. The last piece of the puzzle she knew was ever present in Aramis' life. D'Artagnan had Constance, Aramis had her, Athos apparently had Milady, and if the rumours were true them Porthos had Isabelle.

   Oh Anne, if only she knew that she wasn't even a puzzle piece in the jigsaw that was Musketeers life. To be apart of Musketeer life one had to be a part of the garrison. She could never be a part of the fabric that was that soothing quilt. She was the Queen and nothing more; nothing less but nothing more.

   Even Governor Feron had more chance than her and he was one of the poorest swordsman in the country. That's why he was a Governor and not out there in the fields leading the troops. A Governor who was exceedingly thankful for the constant Durant presence in the palace. Who weirdly enough didn't mind Milady being the spymaster at all. Almost like he knew everything about her. Yet as long as he didn't have to touch the spy network until it was constructed fully more power to him really.

   He was no Cardinal.

   Besides if the rate that he was going was any indication he was going to lose the position of First Minister faster than the rate at which he got it.

   Also more power to him. He won either way.

   The Durant knew of the imminent attack. They always knew. But instead of taking it seriously they were going to use it to their advantage like they always did. This was going to be just a little test, just a little experiment to see how responsive, thorough, and effective their new child was. The fact that they'd see their new allies full capabilities was just the cherry on top, the sugar in the cream. This was just another chess match to them. Actually the whole world was just a board game to them. And like any player playing a board game they only acted within their own self interests.

   Isabelle knew this and was sick of it. Why couldn't they, Why couldn't she be selfless for once.

   Apparently it was also in their own self interests to keep her in the dark too. Well she wasn't a Durant in name. They were also starting to doubt if she was even Durant by blood at all. There was a sense of leniency in her actions towards other people that was most unusual. Most irregular for a Durant who knew what was good for them. And they knew she knew what was good for her. She'd killed her own father for survival. One doesn't commit that kind of atrocity without knowing that they'd be better off first.

   If only they knew that they were only pushing her further down the forbidden path and that she could use that night as a reason to act so wholly unlike any Durant ever before with impunity.

   That her betrayal of their family's code of honour was a betrayal of their own making. They should've never allowed her to become a part of the Queen's circle. How short sighted.

   She killed her own father to live after all. How they even thought they could get away with being short sighted about her was still anyone's guess.

   Though now they were content with just sitting back, relaxing before the Spaniard's little show of power and what was sure to be their brain child's epic response. It's all just a little bit of fun they believed.

   They always talked a good game.

   Even Tréville was shaking a little. The hair on his neck hadn't stopped prickling since he awoke that morning. The hair on his arms standing at attention waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even his beard felt out of place and wrong and he felt it. Felt like their was a storm coming upon the horizon. What kind he didn't know but all he was there was one definitely coming. He just didn't know when it would arrive.

   Well it would be hard for him considering he only had half the picture whilst those secretive bastards had the rest. Had the part that was actually important instead of it just being filler.

   It was all he could do but not visibly show his apprehension. He had to look like he was cool, calm, collected when in fact he was everything but. To show sign of weakness now before the Spanish had even attacked bar from a few small skirmishes near the border would only bolster their enemy more. Especially given the fact that they still had little clue on who the spies inside the palace walls were.

   They'd get their first, well huge, clue about those traitors that night. But they'd also know how incredibly reckless and stupid those spies were. If only they'd done a little digging on the history of the Durant family then they might have exercised the necessary caution in order to stay alive but more's the pity. Well for Spain not for France.

   As it stood Tréville was going nowhere fast so all he could was resign himself to his fate and let it all rest in the hands of that perpetually agonizing couple that he knew and into his God's divine hands.

   Jesus' too just to make the set compete.

   It was all up to the Musketeers that were on guards, Milady, and Athos to do him proud. To weather the storm well and weather they did.

   The new recruits mass exodus of the garrison being an accidental stroke of luck and genius. The empty garrison being quite the surprise for the Spaniards.

   Athos couldn't believe he was back doing this again. Making himself out to be the noble man he once was. It was agreed upon that if anyone asked who he was during the masquerade that he would answer with his former title so as to not worry the rest of the party goers. Still, as his hand trembled to fasten the buttons of his well picked garments, this was too far. He'd already reached his breaking point the other night but at least. At least they were a united front then; the happily wedded couple but now. Now he as Olivier had to watch as Anne, his Anne, seduced other men right before his eyes and he forced to do nothing but watch. He was stuck being reduced to a spectator. Again.

   Again and for what. Just a little more information; one more fickle, fiendish informant. No. The price was too high yet he would still pay it. He had to. He had no choice.

   Being Captain was not all that it was cracked up to be. It's the setting an example that was the real challenge in it. If he wouldn't go above and beyond for his country, his King, then neither would the rest of the men under his guard. He couldn't have that. So now he was to suffer,again, The indignity of not being the man underneath his wife's seductive presence.

   The sacrifices he made for King and country. What a world of sin he lived in.

   Milady was having similar difficulty in getting ready for the night's soiree. Her fingers shaking as she tied the night's chosen choker around her neck, disguising herself once more. She let out a shaky breath as she gazed at her visage in the mirror. Once again not recognizing the person she saw reflected back at her. She was such a swirling mess of Anne, Milady, And whoever she became in her brief time as the King's mistress that she didn't know where to start. Didn't even know how to begin dissecting herself into whatever selves she had created over the years. She was truly exhausted by it all. Why was she simply never enough. First she had to be Comtesse de la Fère to be even remotely respected and when that didn't work out she was forced to become the Cardinal's agent and even that got her exiled from Paris. Christ, she even had to become the King's mistress just to be safe and now she was the Spymaster. Not Milady, not Anne but the Spymaster because even being Milady was simply not enough anymore.

   Too bad that the only solution was to become a mix of both Milady and Anne but how was she supposed to know that when Athos dismissed his attraction to Milady every chance he got.

   All she could go was put on the rest of the jewelry, fix her clothes just so, and tidy her flyaways. And hope for the best. Hope for something more than this at least.

   The Durants, but not Isabelle, were also getting ready. They would be in attendance and they had to play their part perfectly. They had to be above board, above suspicion, above reproach. Everything they were consequently were but could never be seen being. They had an image. They had to keep up appearances. They weren't traitors, no; they weren't that kind of family. Honour was too important. But trust. No one could know about their lack of trust in essentially everyone because they needed people to entrust in them to function. To fulfill their purpose. Without that they would have nothing. Be nothing, nothing but isolated and alone.

   Their collective worst nightmare.

   They arrived separately their only commonality being that they'd arrived in a timely fashion. Well Milady and the Durants arrived only slightly earlier than Athos to go over the plan once more and to review their multiple exit strategies if anything were to go wrong. By the end of the night Milady was thankful for that reminder for she actually had to utilize all of them. Not for her but for everyone else in the room.

   Before she could even thank them for their services they had put their masks on thereby immediately blending into crowd. It was almost harrowing how effortless they made that seem.

   Only Athos and Milady remained and for once they managed to not look at the other. This made what they were about to do even more staggering because in sync they did the following actions.

   Sighing. Broadening their shoulders. Putting on their masks, and stepping with their right foot first.

   Thinking that they'd properly prepared for the evening. That they were ready for whatever the evening would bring.

   They weren't.

   But they were in for one hell of an evening.

 


End file.
